


Leap of Faith

by hiraeth_ish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Hermione Granger, Anxiety, BAMF Hermione Granger, Changing POV, Draco doesn't know how to do feelings properly, F/F, F/M, Ginny is incredible, Harry Needs a Hug, Hermione Granger-centric, Hermione takes on too much, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Better, M/M, Mama Molly Weasley, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Mutual Pining, Neville is a soulmate fan-boi, Neville is a sweetie, Powerful Hermione, Protective Fred & George, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Ron is a great brother, Slow Burn, Snape will be helpful, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Triad - Freeform, but first it gets worse, first fic, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraeth_ish/pseuds/hiraeth_ish
Summary: All magical children get soul marks, Hermione has two.In the years before Hogwarts they are a lifeline to Hermione, but once she realises there is a whole new world at her fingertips love doesn't seem like a priority. With her home life getting worse and worse she will do anything to cling onto her place in the magical world, even if it means occasionally having to battle a Dark Lord.Fred and George have always wished to have the same soul mate but it seems to good to be true. So why are they so invested in their little brother's new friend?There hasn't been a triad bond since the time of Merlin himself but change is coming. Hermione is the smartest witch of her age for a reason and with her two twins behind her she will be unstoppable. When Voldemort discovers the existence of this ancient bond, Harry Potter may no longer be his priority...This story will follow the triad from their pre-Hogwarts years all the way through to the bitter end (any maybe beyond). Also, bit of Draco and Harry that I might make into their own accompaniment story.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley/it's a surprise, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley/it's a surprise, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 368
Kudos: 501





	1. A Magical Birth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (JKR has that honour).
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic and I would love people to let me know what they think (but pls be kind!)
> 
> I have a large part plotted out but if there is something specific you want to see lmk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love getting feedback so comments on any chapter would be really appreciated and I will try to reply to everyone no matter which chapter you comment on or when.  
> Hope you enjoy the story x

**19TH SEPTEMBER 1979** HERMIONE: 0, GEORGE & FRED: 16 MONTHS  
  
Jean Granger was exhausted, sweaty, and tired, but looking down at the scrunched face of her daughter she forgot the last six hours, enthralled as she was by the tiny eyelashes. Looking up to her husband with a radiant smile, he snapped a picture of his family for the first time before leaning in to kiss his wife’s forehead.  
  
Just then a nurse bustled in, dispersing the magic of the domestic moment. Having not assisted during the birth, Sister Naima Bashir was a new face to the Granger’s, but little did they know (or imagine) that this nurse didn’t work at the Queen Mary Maternity Hospital at all but rather was doing out-reach for the corresponding magical ward at St Mungo’s. By monitoring the magical signatures of hospitals across the country, the department of Magical Maternity were able send a liaison when necessary to explain the soul words of magical children, a role Naima delighted in.  
  
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she began, ‘I’m here to answer some questions you have about your daughter’s birthmarks.’  
  
‘Yes,’ said Dan, starting up and entering his academic mindset. ‘It seems as if she has been born with tattoos?!’  
  
‘While it might seem alarming, and is often undocumented, many children are born with these kinds of distinctive marks. I am part of a research group that has been investigating these occurrences for many years and, while we cannot explain the origin, we have concluded that these marks are in no way harmful and often grace children who grow up to be very special,’ Sister Bashir stated. It was not all a lie; the marks were indeed harmless, and the exact origin was unknown, but it was fact that since records began magical children had been born with soul marks, magical inscriptions of the first words your soulmate will ever say to you. The Department of Mysteries was initially established to study the phenomena but, after centuries of research, they had unearthed no more than what was already common knowledge among the magical community: the words would appear on the skin when the youngest member of a soul bond was born, an image would embellish the words when they were spoken, and they would bloom with colour the first time the soulmates touched. It was always difficult to explain to muggle parents as the International Statue of Secrecy prevented the revelation of the secret wixen community until their off-springs eleventh birthday. However, thanks to the Wizengamot’s 1887 Act of Reasonable Revelation, St Mungo’s could reassure the parents of the safety and hint at the significance of the markings. When alerted by a magic flare, nurses are dispatched to take note of the individuals for the records department but the words themselves remained private and sacred, so little did Naima know that new-born girl’s skin was not adorned with one mark but two. Yet this was hardly an oversight on Sister Bashir’s part for it had been millennia since a triad bond was last documented.  
  
‘Have you settled on a name?’ she asked.  
  
Dan took up the copy of ‘A Winter’s Tale’ from where it had been discarded, the pages now crumpled (a victim of Jean’s tight grasp during contractions) and held it up for his wife’s approval. She nodded fondly.  
  
‘Hermione,’ Dan stated to the nurse, who made a note on her clipboard before excusing herself. Grinning from the knowledge that somewhere in the wizarding world another child would see tangible proof of their eternal happiness appearing on their skin, Naima slipped into an empty room and discretely apparated away.  
  
Unaware of the meaning of the gentle pop, back inside the room Jean was gently passing Hermione to be held by her father for the first time. Tentatively, Dan settled his daughter and kissed the downy wisps of hair. ‘She had not been, nor was to be equall’d,’ (5.i.100) he recited, marveling at the life they had created.  
  
Tucked snuggly inside her blanket, the black script on each of Hermione’s wrists glowed and half-way across the country Molly Weasley gasped as she attempted to wash jam off Fred and George.  
  
Splashing naked in the sink, the twins suddenly stopped their giggles and blissful smiles spread across their faces as a glowing light grew on each of their bodies. Realizing what was happening, Molly called excitedly for Arthur who came running into the kitchen.  
  
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded breathlessly. Without a word, Molly pointed at the twins who were behaving perfectly, entranced by their shining skin. With a grin, he took Molly’s hand and traced his words that ran along her thumb and the infinity symbol behind them. _Would you like to be my friend?_ words said at six years old that had given him the best confidant, partner, and family he could have ever dreamed on. Molly pressed her cheek against his shoulder where her reply ( _I think I’ll be your best friend_ ) sat, placed a hand on the slight bump in her stomach where their youngest child was growing, and turned to watch the miracle occur for her twins.  
  
The glowing had now subsided, and black script swept across each child. Along Fred’s forearm read _please could you give me a hand_ while George’s chest displayed the statement, _you’re in my light_. The letters were only just big enough to make out on the toddlers’ little bodies but sitting in the water with such ecstatic grins on their faces, Molly couldn’t resist. With a small flick of her wand and a muttered ‘accio’, the camera divested itself of laundry and zipped across the homely kitchen. Just as the picture was snapped a mud-covered Charlie kicked open the back door and ran in.  
  
‘Mum! Mum, look! I caught a gnome,’ he shouted and, indeed, between his grubby fingers was clasped a grumpy and expletive uttering gnome. ‘Oh,’ he exhaled, taking in the scene at the sink, ‘they got their words!’ Fascinated by the development in his little brothers’ lives, Charlie dropped the gnome in favour of the new excitement and only a speedy ‘stupefy’ from Arthur saved the kitchen from utter devastation. ‘We’ll be able to tell them apart now,’ asserted Charlie with all the gravitas a seven-year-old could possess, ‘do you think maybe their soul mates are twins too?’  
  
‘Oh, wouldn’t that be sweet!’ came Molly’s exclamation.  
  
With an indulgent smile Arthur ushered his second son out of the kitchen, leaving the twins apparently mesmerized with their soul marks and Molly watching over them, a jammy dish cloth in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo that's the start! I know it might not be that long and was a bit of an information dump but hopefully at least someone enjoyed it!  
> Coming up - more scenes of them growing up. Hermione is having a bit of a rough time and the twins antics are just beginning.  
> Also - the quote that Dan says is from A Winter's Tale but is about Hermione's daughter rather than her but yolo I like the quote so I'm using it :/


	2. Primary and Pranks

**DECEMBER 1984** HERMIONE: 5 ¼, FRED & GEORGE: 6 ¾

Hermione had grown up fast. Though she was still diminutive in looks and her face seemed overwhelmed by her bushy hair and large eyes, her intelligence made her seem much older. Unfortunately, Mr and Mrs Granger’s initial excitement had waned as the realities of the demands of a bright young child became apparent. Both incredibly invested in their careers they often found it easier to take care of their daughter by leaving her alone with a book. While they never neglected her, always making sure that she was eating proper meals and providing her with fodder for her veracious reading habit, Hermione grew up largely alone. She had been so excited to start a proper school, to make friends and do all the things she had read about. However, she soon discovered that children were cruel, and the primary school was far from the stimulating haven she had envisioned. Her parents had dropped her off at the gate with two wide fabric strips styled like bracelets tied around her wrists to conceal the words transcribed on them and a ginormous smile on her face.  
  
From the first day of class, Hermione had realized that she was miles ahead of her peers and, while they seemed content to scribble miscoloured rainbows, she was drawn towards the small bookshelf at the back or the room. Upon discovering the dismal level of these books, she began to venture further afield, finally discovering the senior school library. But her absences at break and lunch did not go unnoticed by her classmates and, although she tried to share her interests with them, they would rather shove her than re-enact the adventures of the March family. Four months into her official education, Hermione found that most of what she had learnt consisted of insults and ways to hide skinned knees. Although the break monitors turned a blind eye, she was sure that her parents would have intervened if she had told them, but they were always so much happier when she told them everything was fine.  
  
Back in October she had tried confiding in them when a girl in her year had torn up her maths homework when she saw that Hermione had added additional questions. Despite the name calling, Hermione honestly hadn’t meant to be showing off but instead of simply identifying the simple shapes she had worked out the areas and lengths of each one. She had seen trigonometry in the senior school library, and it seemed simple enough, so she just wanted to check with a teacher that she was doing it right. Returning from school that day with insults still ringing in her ears and shoulders aching from where she had been pushed down, Hermione found she was more upset by the tattered paper in the bottom of her school bag. Seeing her tearful face when she arrived to sit quietly in the waiting room of the practice, Hermione’s mother had just sighed deeply and ushered her into her office. Through hiccupping breaths Hermione had tried to explain what had happened but, in her distress, it came out all muddled: ‘homework… ruined… I…’ was all Jean managed to distinguish.  
  
‘Honestly Hermione, it doesn’t matter that much if you get some things wrong on your homework at this age. You’re a bright girl and can handle things yourself. Your teacher will know you made a mistake. It’s not until senior school that falling behind would be a matter for suspension.’ Having not been that physically affectionate with her daughter since she became mobile enough not to have to be carried, Jean fluttered her hands gentle over Hermione’s bushy hair. ‘If things get any worse we could look into a tutor for home schooling,’ she considered as she turned back to her computer.  
  
Having finally caught her breath the little girl looked up with glistening eyes, prepared to explain properly that she wasn’t the one who had ruined the work. But seeing her mother already engrossed in an x-ray analysis, she shook herself. _Of course_ , she thought, _pull yourself together._ The allure of the senior school library, cemented by the recently returned copy of ‘The Lord of the Flies’, pushed her to dismiss her problems. Nothing could get in the way of her opportunity to learn and reading surrounded by books was far more fun that in her parents clinically neat study. _No, it was just one thing. I won’t let it ruin school and who knows? Maybe one of the older children will check my maths. I can handle this myself_ she affirmed.  
  
But now it was December and her foray into the academic sphere of the older students was met with more derision than that of her peers. She had learnt to go along with the mindless colouring and repetitious lessons, using her breaks and home life for real learning. With a now perfect attendance and homework record, she had learnt to blend into the background, handling the animosity of her peers by disappearing into perfect and unremarkable adequacy. They still didn’t play with her or share their things, but they no longer went out of their way to exclude or bully her, and, for Hermione, that was enough.  
  
The final day of her first ever term at school was bittersweet. While she learnt next to nothing in the classroom, she had formed a firm friendship with the librarian, Miss Amity, would let her borrow books even though she wasn’t old enough too, signing them out under her own name. However, book loans were limited to two per person over the holiday period and so, with Treasure Island and Watership Down already in her bag, there was no way to take Matilda home no matter how much she wished. At the end of the day she left school, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other children who were enthusiastically hugging each other goodbye, Hermione made the short walk home with her report in her hand. She had already read it: _Hermione is a bright student who performs well in class. Since September it seems she is getting on better with her peers and is always ready to help. Her literacy and numeracy are satisfactory, but she could contribute more in class._ When she first read it, Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Had her teacher seen anything this year? _I can handle this myself_ she intoned and determined to take a more active roll in class, at present she just sat at the back and read the book hidden under her desk. Longingly she though of Matilda again. Miss Amity said that she might find it simple but that Hermione would definitely enjoy the story. Lately she had begun to venture into the textbooks of the upper years, finding the new knowledge exhilarating as it pushed her, but nothing compared to the bliss of pure escapism provided by fiction.  
  
Turning up her garden path, she retrieved the key from the fake stone and went into the living room. Depositing her bag and getting a drink, she checked the time. 20 minutes until her parents would be home, just long enough to get started on Fiver’s adventures! Returning to the sofa, Hermione opened her bag and gasped. Sitting snuggly between her homework planner and Adam’s novel was the battered library copy of Matilda! How did it get there? Had Miss Amity slipped it in as a Christmas present? Or had she longed for it so much that somehow she had made it appear?  
  
As the Christmas holidays passed, and as she read, she began to speculate. When her parents took her books at bedtime somehow they would magically reappear by her pillow. When she dropped the special glass as she laid the table for Christmas dinner (celebrated on Boxing Day as her parents volunteered to be on call on the actual day) it stopped a centimetre from the ground, preventing it from smashing. When her pen ran out of ink it kept working for days before she could get a replacement cartridge. As the odd incidences began adding up, and her theories were supplemented by Dahl, she concluded that maybe she was like Matilda and, like Matilda, determined to practice her abilities.  
  
She wandered if her telekinetic powers were linked to the words on her wrists. Ever since she could remember her parents had told her to keep them covered in public but avoided her specific questions. They said that they made her special and not to worry about them. The bracelets were taken off at bath time but always put back on as soon as her skin was dry. It was the elegant font that had first pushed her to start reading as early as she could, determined to make the squiggles into something meaningful. By three she had thoroughly deciphered them. _You made it_ read her right wrist; _take care of yourself_ said the left. The first things she had ever read but she still didn’t really understand them, and nothing she found helped explain it.

Back in the burrow the twins were waiting with their mother, younger siblings, and Percy for Bill and Charlie to be brought home for the holidays. As Aunt Muriel was visiting, they had all elected to wait in the snowy yard which suited Fred and George’s plans perfectly. They had managed to borrow their mum’s wand while she was busy with Ginny and thought they had managed to pull off a disillusionment charm. True, the cardboard box balanced precariously on top of the hedge by the gate did seem to stutter into existence every now and then, but no-one seemed to have seen it yet. The new Ford Anglia pulled up (Arthur had insisted on getting a muggle driving license) and the two eldest boys hopped out, legging it through the gate to greet their family after months away. As they tugged the gate open the string the twins had set up pulled over their improvised cage and no less than seventeen imprisoned gnomes charged out, armed with dandelions and, in one particularly aggressive case, a hawthorn sprig, towards the home comers. Taken by surprise and overwhelmed by the numbers, fifteen-year-old Bill tripped over his broom stick and fell face first into the snow. Howling with laughter Charlie didn’t notice the gnome that was climbing up the hem of his robes until it stood on his shoulder and stuck a daisy in his ear. Yelping, Charlie captured the perpetrator by the legs, spun twice before releasing it in a high arc across the field.  
  
‘That was nearly sixty feet!’ exclaimed Bill who was clambering to his feet and trying to catch a projectile of his own. But the gnomes, displeased by the cold, had all scattered back into the undergrowth and the two eldest Weasley children turned to their family who were laughing uproariously, with the exception of Molly who was glaring disapprovingly at the twins.  
  
‘Excellent job boys!’ congratulated Arthur as he wound his way over to them. ‘How on earth did you catch so many?’  
  
‘Arthur!’ came Molly’s rebuke.  
  
‘I mean that was wrong of you boys, very wrong,’ he corrected with a wink at the twins, ‘but really how’d you do it?’  
  
‘Took us four days,’ began George.  
  
‘And about three jars of honey,’ picked up Fred.  
  
‘Which we’ve found works better than jam,’ George interjected.  
  
‘Then a pair of mum’s tights -’  
  
‘And Charlie’s old incubator -’  
  
‘And then -’  
  
‘Boom’  
  
‘Box full of gnomes,’ concluded Fred beaming at his twin.  
  
‘Brilliant,’ said Bill as he picked up a sleepy Ginny.  
  
‘Yes, yes, its all very ingenious,’ said Molly, unable to help the admiration leaking through her dismissal, ‘now everyone back inside and next time the garden need degnoming we know exactly who to come to.’  
  
And with that Molly herded her big family back inside, prepared for a wonderful Christmas.

When Christmas day came, Fred and George woke early as they always did and pulled up their chairs to the little desk in their room. As long as they could remember every Christmas and every September 19th they wrote a letter to their soulmates. Their mother had of course informed them of their soul mates’ birthdays and although the twins had no idea who they would be or where they were, they wanted their soul mate to know that they were thinking of them. The twins had never told anyone about the small stack of letters under each of their beds, they didn’t even let each other read them but it gave them a sense of connection. They knew they were lucky, their soul mates spoke English and were only a year and a half younger than them (not that age gaps really mattered in the magical community when it came to soul mates). Bill’s marks hadn’t come in until he was six and read _es-tu lié au petit Ronald?_ Although they were magically guaranteed to meet, it was disheartening to realise that it would probably be years. Ron’s own marks were secretly Molly’s favorite, she liked to romanticized the _I finally caught up with you_ that ran from the tip of his left little finger down to his wrist. Ginny too had been born with her soul mark: _Watch Out!_ emblazoned on the side of her neck. Of course, it didn’t help that the only female Weasley was incredibly brave and accident prone; there had hardly been a day since she was old enough to explore on her own that Ginny didn’t return with some scrape to accompany her smile. The elder Weasley’s were all worried about the eventual moment of her reveal, praying that it wouldn’t be the end of her.  
  
By now ten minutes had passed and the twins had completed their letters and were folding them carefully to place with the rest. Being only six and three quarters, the letters weren’t particularly long or sentimental. Fred’s read:  
  
**Dear Soul Mate,  
This is my third Christmas letter to you! So much has happened since September but my favorite was when George (he’s my brother) made up a potion to make Percy’s silly rat go yellow when he bit me. I hope you are having a good holiday with lots of fun things and have lots of family. One day we will have Christmas together and I’ll be able to help you, just like the words say. I wish I didn’t have to wait for you,  
  
Fred  
  
** George always took a little longer with his so Fred sat tracing the words on his forearm with a smile. Finally finished, George folded his letter away.  
  
**To my soul,  
Happy Christmas! I wish I could give this to you in person but that will have to wait for one day. Mum always says that when I ask ‘one day’. All my brothers are home and it is very crowded but we still have space for you here too. Freddie and me have made lots of plans for the holiday but mum has made a rule to keep wands on shelves out of reach so some of our games might not work. Freddie thinks we should make a movable ladder. It was snowing here and I hope it is with you – Bill says that snow is a special kind of magic but mum says that is what I have with you. One day we will be magical in the snow.  
Lots of love, George  
**  
‘Freddie,’ said George, ‘do ever wonder if it would be possible for us to have the same soul mate?’  
  
‘The same?’ Fred replied, looking up from his arm.  
  
‘Yeah, I just can’t imagine my life without you, without us being like it is now.’  
  
‘Our soul mates would never separate us,’ but Fred’s words sounded more like a question than a statement.  
  
‘But if we shared them it would never be choice,’ persisted George.  
  
‘Together forever with them,’ Fred mused, ‘it sounds…’  
  
‘Perfect,’ George completed.  
  
Sighing, the twins stood up and stretched, finally allowing the excitement of Christmas to overtake them.  
  
‘Wherever they are and whoever, we’ll take care of them,’ Fred swore, ‘but they better bloody love presents!’  
  
‘And us!’ As together they raced out of their room, tearing through the house, leaping on their siblings, and traditionally beginning the Burrow Christmas by pouring a bucket of glitter over Percy.

Hermione spent most of Christmas Day with her Uncle Frank after her parents went to work at midday. They had opened presents with her (books of course) and then dropped her off. She didn’t mind, Uncle Frank rarely bothered her and was content to sit and read with her in the study. She wasn’t sad, something she had to repeat to herself, but she did feel lonely, longing for someone to sit with her as she opened presents or someone to give something to.  
  
She spent most of the holidays in her room, attempting to get control of her telekinesis but to no avail. Unlike Matilda’s example, the more she practiced the more erratic her control became. After a series of trials Hermione concluded that her ‘powers’ (as she had dubbed them) only worked when she was desperate, or emotional. Logically building upon this foundation she began to drop objects, a book over a full bath, the special china, and (excluding one book of nonsense poetry) found her experiments a success. Hermione decided that her next aim would be to try to emulate the emergency of these feelings without the peril to unsuspecting crockery and books.  
  
Armed with this new intent Hermione arrived back at school with a plan to navigate the tedium of her lessons. But her hopes of school were dashed again. Her school peers were more vicious than ever and the oddities that began to plague Hermione only drove the division wider. When tauntingly upending her school bag, the bullies would find themselves suddenly shaking uncontrollably and unable to continue. Those who tried to chase her soon found that Hermione had some how developed the ability to, seemingly, disappear from in front of their eyes; on one particularly memorable occasion, when an older student attempted to rip up Hermione’s copy of Matilda, the boy suddenly found his hair on fire!  
Although surprised, and sometimes scared of, her powers, Hermione was proud of herself. Her participation in classes was increasing even if she found it all mind-numbingly easy, and her injuries decreased – _I’m handling things_.  
  
But still she could not help but long for a friend, someone to be on her side. Someone to give her a hug apart from Uncle Frank. Someone who could be her equal and could see the things that made her special without being afraid. More and more, Hermione found she would sit with each hand holding the opposite wrist, clinging on to the words written there. _Take care of yourself | You made it_. Each day she was determined to make them true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's all the properly written stuff that I have finished, but I have up to fourth year planned out and several days of train rides so hopefully I can write some more!  
> I'm relatively new to the whole fanfiction thing so would love any recommendations you guys have :P


	3. Two Different Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning** Things worsen in Hermione's home life and this chapter contains scenes of grooming. The section is clearly delineated with the stars so feel free to go ahead and skip it; I'll put a brief summary of the plot points in the end notes.  
> There are also some fun scenes for the twins so you don't have to skip entirely.

**SUMMER 1989** HERMIONE: 9, FRED & GEORGE: 11

The alarm clock leapt into life at 8am, pulling the sheets of both boys and beginning to tickle their feet (a novelty gift from Bill that he had charmed himself last Christmas). However, today was one of the only days of the year that George didn’t need it. As soon as they had awoken both twins had raced downstairs in their pyjamas for today was THE day, the day when they would finally get their Hogwarts letters, finally be entitled to a wand, finally be able to begin work of the lists of inventions that filled their black notebook.

Thundering down the stairs they almost collided with Ron who was frozen at the bottom of the stairs, a look of apprehension on his face. In the morning's excitement the twins had completely forgotten the April Fool’s prank they had planned. In the middle of a neon green kitchen stood Percy confidently flourishing his wand with an increasingly frustrated cry of ‘finite incantatem’. But nothing changed, and nothing would change. Having saved their pocket money for a year Fred and George had snuck into the local muggle village and brought several cans of fluorescent muggle paint; then they held a night-time vigil until they were confident all their family were safely abed before sneaking down to manually paint the entire ground-floor. There was no spell to banish it, indeed no magically solution would work except a stripping spell (which unfortunately Mr Weasley emerged to perform). _Just wait until next year,_ George thought. _It won’t be so easy when we add a permanent sticking charm_ , concluded a gleeful Fred.

With the morning antics over (or so the rest of the Weasley’s thought), the twins bounded to the window and settled down to watch the horizon for the appearance of their owl.

Errol arrived first, crashing into the windowpane and cracking it for the third time that year but it wasn’t until half past eleven that the steady flight of a Hogwarts owl was spotted.

Gracefully landing on the kitchen table the large barn owl held out it’s leg on which were attached two letters address in emerald green ink. One to **Mr F Weasley, Western Bed, Second Floor Bedroom, The Burrow** and the other to **Mr G Weasley, Northern Bed**. Hands shaking from excitement they took the letters from Percy, who dismissed the bird with the crust of his morning toast. Opening them with matching grins, the twins took a deep breath and read, knowing that their future was finally beginning.

**************************************

High above England, Dan and Jean Granger relaxed on their flight to New York. After all their years of work, their careers were finally reaching the levels they prayed for. When they were invited to present at the American Association of Dentists they had been thrilled for the international recognition and, being an atheist family who didn't celebrate the holiday, saw no harm in leaving Hermione to stay with Jean’s brother Frank for her school holidays. Frank had often visited during holidays and seemed to have taken quite the shine to Hermione, he had been more than willing to help the Granger’s out with childcare and had told them not to rush back ‘if you’re crossing an ocean you may as well make a holiday out of it’.

In Hermione’s mind, the absence of her parents was hardly notable and staying with Uncle Frank had seemed less objectionable than a live-in babysitter. She was a little sad to be missing out on the community Easter Egg hunt but even after five years at school there were no children in her neighborhood who considered her a friend. So, with a bag full of books and no protests she had been dropped off to her Uncle Frank’s house for the first time.

Six days into her ten day stay, Hermione was beginning to feel alarmed. It had been strange when Uncle Frank had presented her with a teddy bear and a high five as soon as she entered his house. Over the next few days he had insisted on sitting right next to her at dinner, an arm slung over the back of her chair so it would press against her if she lent back. However, her parents had never been tactile in her memory and so she put her discomfort down to her inexperience.

The nights had been the strangest. Each night before she turned out her light he would come in, take up the stuffed bear and tuck it under the sheets next to her, then stroke her hair and kiss her forehead. In the dark she could here him lumbering around in the corridor and the sound of the TV. But it wasn’t television like she had ever heard before. It was all moaning and sighing and Hermione wasn’t sure she liked to listen to it at all.

Last night, when coming in for his now customary bed time routine, his hands had skimmed over her chest as he tucked the toy in and now he was sat in the living room after dinner suggesting she come and sit on his lap as they watched CBBC. Hermione took a hesitant step into the room, eying her normal seat on the sofa and thinking longingly of her book upstairs.

‘Come on, love,’ he enticed.

‘Um, I would really rather go and read,’ Hermione edged.

‘But I never get to see you and it would be nice to spend more time together,’ Frank bargained. Feeling guilty in the face of his hospitality, Hermione crossed, unsure, and decided to sit by his feet. However, Uncle Frank merely slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her easily onto his lap.

‘There,’ he said, settling her on his lap and pulling her back against him. Hermione sat stiffly for fifteen minutes but gradually relaxed into him, he was her uncle and she had read about close families, maybe that is what this was, an adult who cared enough to be present for her. But that night his forehead kiss fell against her lips and, as she tried to sink back into her pillow, he ran a hand through her hair.

‘You’re a very grown-up girl, Hermione, very bright. It’s good to have some secrets, isn’t it?’ and back out of her room, the floorboards creaking in his wake.  
Hermione lay terrified. Only when all sounds in the house had stopped did she relax enough to process his words. She knew she was bright, she was told all the time by her parents, her teachers, even the man in the corner shop. If that bit was right maybe the other bits were too. Every book she had read said that growing up was uncomfortable, maybe the icky feeling was what they meant. And she was growing, the height chart in the Granger’s kitchen proved that. _You can handle this yourself_. Her mother’s words rang in her head as they so often did when she was pushed, or ignored, or called names. On every previous occasion Hermione had done just that, handled it. Taking a deep breath, she let herself drift off to sleep.

Four days later she was confident she had made the right decision. Her uncle would sit with her on his lap after dinner, agreeing to let her read, and drawing soft patterns on her back but nothing else. His evening kisses would still fall on her lips and she couldn’t help but be repelled by the sounds of the night’s TV. But their time together was nice, affectionate, and on the seventh night of her stay somehow the telly exploded and so that solved her night-time distaste.

The hour before her parents were due to arrive, he sat her down on his knee again.

‘Now Hermione,’ he began, lifting her chin to force her to meet his eyes. ‘You love you parents, don’t you?’

Thrown off by this beginning, she nodded. In apparent reward at her answer he released his hold on her chin and stroked her cheek.

‘Well, they might be upset about how close we’ve become, might think I’ve replaced them.’ At this Hermione opened her mouth to contradict him, but he placed a finger against her lips. ‘No, Hermione, wait until I’ve asked you to speak. It’s very important you tell your mum and dad that you had fun, but you have to keep our secret. I can count on you right?

‘Yes,’ Hermione mumbled, but she wasn’t really sure what she was agreeing to. Yes, she could be counted on and no she didn’t mind keeping secrets from her parents, but she didn’t like the way Uncle Frank’s finger felt against her lips or how close he was leaning. A bedtime kiss was one thing, but people didn’t kiss in the day. The closer he got the more panicked she became, quickly deciding to handle the situation by turning her head to the side, he ended up pulling her into a tight hug but as his hands started to slip under the hem of her shirt, some how the tap exploded and water flooded across the kitchen.

So, when her parents arrived, they found the two of them inch deep in water, Hermione diligently handing tools to her Uncle Frank whose head was concealed in the cupboard under the sink. Deciding to get out of his hair, they took their daughter home who answered vaguely about her stay, recalling the list of books she had worked through and hardly noticed her redirect the conversation with questions about their trip.

That night, safely in her own bedroom, undisturbed by unwanted kisses, Hermione concentrated on levitating her desk chair, having progressed from pencils years ago. In the dim light of her bedroom, she unwound the fabric from her wrists. Staring at the marks, she saw them as reassurances rather than commands for the first time in her life.

Hermione Granger now had two secrets that she didn’t know what to do with.

****************************************

The next few months passed in much the same manner for all three children. Fred and George used their wands to reach new heights in their pranks, even mastering a switching spell and exchanging Ron’s teddy bear for a spider they had found in the garden. Mr and Mrs Weasley had berated them for deliberately playing on their little brother’s fear, but Fred and George protested that he had deserved it after having let Ginny fall into the pond behind the Burrow when he was distracted. Meanwhile, Hermione continued with her books, perfecting the act of adequacy she put on for her teachers and peers and spending about a weekend a month at Uncle Frank’s as the professional demands of her parents required them to travel more and more. She felt like she was suffocating. Her teachers didn’t seem to care how withdrawn she was becoming, after years of snapping at her to let the other children have a chance she had retreated into herself, only making sure that the level of her work didn’t fall enough to warrant a letter to her parents. Her recent change to near silence went unremarked upon for the rest of the academic year; her peers, too, seemed pleased by her new reticent, happy to let her sink back into isolation. Her last refuge became the library and the promise that in two more years she would be able to get books out for herself.

The end of the summer marked two very different events in each household. The twins were finally off to Hogwarts, while Hermione was returned to Uncle Frank’s for a week as her parents went to speak at a conference for the Chinese Association of Paediatric Dentistry. So many times in the last year had Hermione wanted to tell her parents but Uncle Frank insisted on secrecy, and Hermione knew the importance of that. How many times had her parents insisted on keeping her wrists covered? How many times had they hurried her away when her powers manifested or did something strange or bizarre? She had told them about her theory on telekinesis and they had dismissed her, telling her to keep it a secret. So as she sat on Uncle Frank’s lap, biting her lip as his hands skimmed under her shirt to draw patterns on the skin of her back, she clutched her wrists, the words emblazoned there acting as a life-line.

Many miles away on the scarlet Hogwarts express, George opened a compartment door to find a young black boy in muggle clothes inside.

‘Hullo, do you mind if we join you?’ George queried.

‘No, of course, come on in. I’m Lee Jordan,’ he replied sticking out his hand.  
George took it and entered, tailed by Fred. ‘George Weasley, and this is my brother -’

‘Fred,’ he completed himself.

‘Wow, are you identical?’ but before the twins could answer, Lee continued. ‘Sorry that was really stupid! You probably get that all the time.’ The twins shrugged. ‘Hey, look,’ he pulled out a deck of cards, ‘I learnt some muggle magic tricks this summer, wanna see?’

‘Wicked,’ the twins replied in sync and the spent the rest of the train journey practicing slight of hand, dropping cards, and laughing hard. When the sorting came, and all three boys were sorted into Gryffindor, they knew that this was the start of a true friendship. Winning three chocolate frogs off Alicia Spinnet with their card tricks, the boys had a midnight feast in their dormitory and made a vow. _From this day on, we formally swear ourselves to mischief, and to spread as much joy as mayhem._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got rough there sorry!  
> For those who skipped the important things to know are that Hermione's parents are traveling more due to work commitments and leaving her with her Uncle Frank who begins to groom her. Obviously this is a very sensitive topic but I have tried to write it based on testimonials so it has a sense of a real experience.
> 
> The next chapter will be up immediately in which Hermione finds out about Hogwarts and things start looking up.
> 
> Also a note on the spellings - I try my hardest but I am dyslexic, if you find anything is wrong please let me know and I'll fix it :)


	4. Letters and Opportunities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and George join the quidditch team, begin their first business, and discover a magical aid to mischief making.  
> Hermione finds out about Hogwarts.

**SEPTEMBER 1990** HERMIONE: 11, FRED & GEORGE: 12

Fred and George craned their necks searching through the first years assembled at the front of the Great Hall. They knew it was unlikely that their soulmates would be present but with such an early birthday it was possible for pureblood children to enter Hogwarts early as they would have already been exposed to the magical world, meaning the Statue of Secrecy would not be broken if the student was informed of their attendance a few days before their eleventh birthday. Having scanned through the assembled children they concluded that there wasn’t a pair of twins among them, but that didn’t discount the possibility of their mates’ presence. They were so distracted by their examination that they missed the sorting hat’s song and jumped when Professor McGonagall’s commanding voice rang out.

‘Belbey, Marcus.’ A brunet boy tiptoed up to the stool and sat for a moment before the great rip in the hat declared: ‘Ravenclaw!’ and he scampered over to the blue table who were clapping enthusiastically. As each new student took their turn the twins examined the new cohort, cheering along with the rest of the Gryff’s as the lower end of their table slowly started to fill with Katie Bell joining them first, soon to be followed by a number of other proud looking first years. But none of the new faces called out to either of them, not that soul mates were instantly attracted to each other, often it was a relationship based on familiarity and friendship as much as passion.

‘Oh well Freddie, we’ll just have to try and talk to some of them,’ consoled George.

‘Yeah, maybe we could join some clubs this year,’ Fred proposed.  
‘How about Quidditch?’

‘But first years never make the team,’ replied Fred exasperatedly.

‘I know, it doesn’t stop them trying out though -’

‘Quidditch did you say?’ a voice reached them from further up the table. Turning, the twins saw Oliver Wood, a fourth year who shared a dorm with their elder brother Percy. A bit gobsmacked that Wood would talk to them (he was a bit of a Gryffindor legend after his save against Slytherin sixth year Higgs last year, and now Quidditch captain), they merely nodded. Lee, noticing the stars in the twins eyes, used the opportunity to flick peas into their open mouths, startling them back to reality.

‘Uh, yeah, um, we thought we’d try out,’ stumbled Fred.

‘Yeah, good set of shoulders you’ve both got,’ Wood considered. ‘Here, hit this.’ And without any more warning he threw half a sausage at George. The gravy-soaked projectile sored over the table and, acting on lucky instinct, George managed to bat it away with his knife. It landed sorrowfully in a stack of carrots, but Wood looked impressed. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the authoritative voice of McGonagall issued from behind them.

‘Mr Wood! What on earth do you think you are doing? Are you so foolish that you have forgotten the difference between the dinner table and the play area? I hope I have not made a mistake entrusting you with your new responsibility.’

‘No Professor,’ Wood almost shouted. Attempting to mop up the gravy trail along the table, he continued ‘I was just test out some potential beaters.’

‘Beaters?’ McGonagall’s displeasure immediately replaced with interest as she considered the red-headed twins in front of her. Yes, they were troublemakers, but she had seen them lobbing dung bombs at Mrs Norris with considerable accuracy at the end of last year. And their brother Charlie had been a phenomenal seeker before he decided to abscond from his Hogwarts education last year to go chasing dragons! ‘Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t practice where the Slytherins can see you!’ And with eyes narrowed at the new Slytherin captain, Flint, she swept away from the table, a gentle wave of her wand cleaning the remaining gravy.

‘Well Lee, what do you reckon?’ asked George, turning to the third member of their company.

‘Well I don’t really fancy playing it… but maybe I could see if they need a new commentator now Sam Hillard’s gone.’

‘That would be brilliant,’ replied the twins together and they spent the rest of the evening narrating all the events at the table in the most dramatic manner possible. And when the day of the trials came two weeks later, Fred and George did make the team along with Angelina Johnson as a new chaser and seventh year Cyril Meakins as the seeker (who wasn’t terrible but gave Wood no great hope of winning the cup).

******************

On the evening of the 19th September Minerva McGonagall smartly brushed down the front of her muggle attire, ensuring that she looked as ‘normal’ as possible then knocked firmly on the red door of the Granger’s house. This was one of her favorite duties as Deputy Headmistress – the introduction to the magical world. She had completed her classes, reassigned the Weasley twins to detention with Snape after their experimentation of the effects of gravity-enhancing potions on ghosts had caused several non-corporeal splinching effects, and collected Miss Granger’s letter from the Book Of Admittance.

Soon the door opened an a rather harassed looking woman with a highlighter and stack of papers in hand, opened the door.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Granger?’ the woman nodded. ‘My name is Professor McGonagall, I have come to speak to you about your daughter.’

‘Professor?’ Jean queried, ‘Professor of what?’

‘Well that rather what I’ve come to talk to you about. May I come in?’ Jean nodded and stood aside.

‘Hermione!’ she called up the stairs and soon her daughter appeared holding a battered copy of A Winters Tale, a gem that she had recently discovered. When she had descended the stairs, Jean continued: ‘Hermione, there is a Professor here who has come to talk to you, can you join us at the table?’ Eyes wide, Hermione nodded. _A professor here for me! Oh no, maybe they found out my secret and want to take me away and run tests on me. This is why I have to been careful with secrets!_ she berated herself.

But despite her stern features, this professor had kind eyes as she ushered the small girl to the table.

‘Hello Hermione, my name is Professor McGonagall. I am a teacher at a school that we would very much like you to attend. Its name is Hogwarts.’

‘A school? Is it somewhere for gifted students?’ enquired Mrs Granger.

‘In many ways, yes,’ replied the professor. ‘The students at our school are all special, they are gifted with magic.’ Here she turned towards Hermione, who was watching with bated breath. _Magic_ it answered so many questions but despite her years of telekinetic practice and odd occurrences, it was hard to believe that this fiction was reality after all. As if able to see these thoughts playing out in the young girl’s mind, McGonagall continued. ‘Miss Granger have you ever made something happen? Something you can’t explain? Many magically children experience what we term ‘accidental magic’. Incredible and special events that occur when you are feeling particularly emotional, perhaps scared or excited. Does this sound familiar?’ The last question was address to both mother and daughter.

‘Magic?’ exhaled Jean.

‘Yes,’ McGonagall replied simply. ‘The magical and non-magical, or muggle, worlds split many years ago, but records of our existence remain. Of course, fanciful exaggeration has created a rather mismatched vision of reality but yes, your daughter has magic. As do I.’ And with a small flourish of her wand, which she had withdrawn from the inside of her jacket, she created a small bundle of sunflowers and handed them to Hermione. ‘Many non-magical families encourage children to hide the signs of their power but it is important to know that these abilities mark you out as exceptional. My school, Hogwarts, is a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and it is a place we can teach you to harness and improve your powers, setting you up for a life in this new world, your new world if you choose to accept our invitation.’ She pushed the envelop across the table to Hermione who took it with shaking hands. Aware that the girl had not spoken yet, Minerva decided to push a little to ensure the girl was not in shock.

‘Hermione, do any of the things I’ve described sound familiar? Do you ever make things happen without meaning to?’

Still holding the unopened envelop, the girl’s wide brown eyes met her own. ‘I can control it. I can make things move when I want them, I can make things appear when I need them, sometimes,’ here she hesitated and returned her gaze to the table, unwilling to relinquish her secrets even to someone who seemed to share them. ‘Sometimes, I don’t mean to, but things break when I don’t want them.’ Hermione rushed the admission. She decided to keep the more violent incidents to herself. The professor might share some of her abilities but maybe she wouldn’t want someone at her school who hurt people, even accidently. Tentatively chancing a look at the older woman, Hermione was surprised to see a small smile gracing her lips.

‘That is very impressive Hermione. Not many children your age can uses their magic deliberately. I think we can expect great things from you.’ Hermione beamed. For the first time in years no-one had snapped at her for showing off and was glad that she hadn’t revealed anything that might jeopardize her admission. With McGonagall’s praise still ringing in her ears, she opened the envelop and read the words that would change her life.

Jean had been sat mutely during Hermione’s confession. She had always known her daughter was special, why they had been told that the day of her birth. And suddenly it was like pieces clicked into place. _these marks often grace children who grow up to be very special_ the words the nurse had spoken the day of her daughter’s birth. Not just special, but magical! Jean and Dan had noticed the series of strange events that followed their daughter, had even listened to Hermione’s own Matilda theory, but they had rationally put it down to a series of coincidences and an overactive imagination, after all they were scientists.

‘This school? Hogwarts?’ she ventured, determined to get some facts so she felt on more familiar footing. ‘What kind of education will she be getting?’

‘Hogwarts is one of the leading academies of magic in the world,’ said the professor proudly. ‘In the first two years the children are given a basic grounding in charms, transfiguration, potions, and an assortment of other key subjects. As they grow and their magical abilities develop, more classes are offered such as Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. Through out their education the students sit formal exams, equipping them with the qualifications they will need to pursue adult life in the magical world.’

‘We had talked about her uncle taking up her education for senior school as the local grammar school really isn’t challenging her but I suppose this would be a suitable alternative.' Hermione gulped. She had had no idea of the potential of Uncle Frank taking over her instruction; she knew he had been a university lecturer for a while before leaving to focus on research, but his tutoring her was out of the question. _I have to handle this myself_.

‘When would I start?’ Hermione asked desperately.

‘Admission occurs in the September following a students eleventh birthday. Which I believe is today Miss Granger. Happy Birthday.’ Another flourish of her wand and the previously conjured sunflowers transformed into a pair of fireworks spelling out ‘11’ in colour changing sparkles. ‘I take it then that you would like to accept your spot at school and enter the magical world?’ A wonderstruck Hermione nodded.

Later that evening, she lay in bed the words echoing around her head _enter the magical world_ that meant she could leave this one behind, and when she did, she never wanted to come back. That evening she determined to be the best student Hogwarts had ever seen. Already thrilled by Professor McGonagall’s interest in her powers, she knew this school would be an environment that encouraged learning, an entire new world to explore, and a boarding school where Uncle Frank couldn’t touch her. _Magic!_ She took a steadying breath and began a count down in her head. _Only 346 day until she could leave this all behind._

***************************

Back in Hogwarts, George was dressing nervously for his first Quidditch game. Fred had woken early and already gone down to breakfast while he remained in the dormitory, attempting to dress. George had managed to get his head stuck in the arm hole of his jersey twice before Lee took pity on him and helped him dress. Breakfast seemed to pass in a blur and before he knew it, Fred had taken his elbow and was guiding him down to the pitch, holding both their Clean Sweeps under his other arm.

Waiting in the changing room, the noise of the crowd growing, Wood began what was clearly a well-rehearsed speech. It calmed George to imagine how annoyed Percy must have been with Oliver’s constant practicing and that moment of relief allowed him to relax into the excitement of the game.

They marched out onto the pitch in regimented formation. It was Oliver’s belief that their precision could intimidate the Slytherins before they were even airborne. Madam Hooch called the captains forwards who took off their gloves to shakes hands.

‘Good luck,’ sneered Marcus Flint as their hands touched. Prepared with a scathing retort Wood stuttered as he felt a growing tingling on his neck and only managed a lame ‘yeah well, you mean good luck to you.’ As he turned around to his team, the cause of his discomposure became clear. The black script reading _good luck_ that crawled up his neck was black no longer. Before the eyes of the entire school it turned a vivid emerald and a flickering flame appeared behind it, dancing in the raging confusion radiating from Wood.

There was silence for a second before Fred burst out in laughter and Lee, on the megaphone, called out: ‘Bloody Hell!’ (‘Jordan!’ cried McGonagall) ‘the rival captains Gryffindor and Slytherin seem to have found their soulmates! We can only hope that Wood doesn’t let this development stop him from giving those slippery snakes the thrashing they deserve! Perhaps it is all an dirty trick –‘ but the rest of his accusations were cut off by a combination of McGonagall’s rebuke and Hooch’s whistle as the game commenced.

The ferocity between the two newfound soulmates was incredible and, after many jokes from Lee about sexual frustration, Gryffindor lost by 170 points to 70, Wood’s determined goal keeping undermined by Meakins lacklustre seeking. The two captains stormed off the pitch and the rest of each team took bets on how long it would take them to break.

Inspired by the public matching, soul mates became the talk of the school for the next week with students randomly approaching each other in a series of increasingly outlandish methods to try and get someone to say their words. George had briefly considered a shrink spell so he could fit side the bedside lights of his fellow students, taking his _you’re in my light_ incredibly literally. Fred took a different approach and let it be known that he would assist in any schemes for the small price of two sickles, hoping that someone would approaching him with _please could you give me a hand?_ A practical decision as, even if he didn’t find his soulmate, at least he could make some cash. After a brief spell in the hospital wing when he got stuck the size of a teaspoon, George decided that Fred’s route was the more feasible and pragmatic. So, in a corner of the Gryffindor common room WMW (Weasley’s Matchmaking Wonders) was established and the weeks until Christmas were a succession of hilarious, but totally unsuccessful, endeavors. For that was the magic of soulmates, you were destined to meet them in the perfect way that would establish the foundation for a lifetime of happiness, no two twelve-year olds could compete with the foresight of magic herself.

However, their little business did bring with it one fortuitous wonder. Waiting Filch’s judgement after a mistimed escapade involving a bucket of mud and an attempt at an indoor thunderstorm to try to make Cho Chang run to Felix Brunt and say _damn this weather!_ , they had noticed a lock draw marked **Confiscated and Highly Dangerous**. Temptation overwhelmed them so, with the lock-picking skills acquired from their studies of muggle magic with Lee, Fred kept watch as George broke into the draw whipped the contents into the folds of their robes and jumped back to their seats just as Filch returned muttering about Peeves.

Due to a three-hour detention spent scrubbing the moving staircases under Mrs Norris’ vigilant eye, the twins didn’t get a chance to examine their prize until past midnight. In the secrecy of their curtained four-poster, with bated breath they brought out their treasure but realized to their disappointment it was just a piece of old parchment. Fred brought out his wand and decided to try a charm he had found when planning one of their WMW schemes.

‘Specialis Revelio!’ For a moment nothing seemed to have happened but then words bloomed across the parchment.

_‘Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs proudly congratulate Messrs Weasley and Weasley for our liberation, but they are going to have to try harder than that to find out our secrets._

_Moony would like to congratulate Mr Fred for his commanding use of weather charms but commiserates with him on having such a lamentable brother who gets stuck as cutlery._

_Wormtail would like to concur with Moony but admires the ability of Mr George to make his brain any smaller._

_Padfoot soundly disagrees with his comrades and finds Mr George’s sneezing potion and pumpkin juice combination to be a mark of genius while Mr Fred only manages explosions._

_Prongs would like to agree with all his fellow marauders and congratulate Hogwarts’ newest generation of pranksters but finds it hilarious that they think they are at marauders level yet._

_Better luck next time._

And the message faded away. Excitement alight in their eyes, the next few months were spent attempting to decipher the code to what they eventually discovered was a comprehensive map of Hogwarts, the perfect partner for students set on mischief.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted immediately after Chapter 3 so you don't get left on such a sad note. 
> 
> What did you think of this one? Were the marauders too mean? And what about Wood and Flint? 
> 
> Up next - Hermione goes to Diagon Alley and the first introduction of some Draco/Harry!


	5. The Last Days of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes to Diagon Alley, Harry and Draco meet, and Hermione is returned to Uncle Frank's at the end of summer.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning** scenes of child grooming and assault, and suicidal thoughts. This only occurs in the last bit of the chapter and will be marked out by TW in the page break.

**SUMMER 1991** HERMIONE: 11, FRED & GEORGE: 13

The morning of July 31st dawned bright and clear as Hermione leapt out of her bed so energetically you might have thought she was electrocuted. Dressing quickly, she was waiting at the breakfast table and halfway through her cereal by the time her parents appeared. After a sluggish meal on the adult’s side, they piled into the car and set off towards central London to visit the magic street Professor McGonagall had informed them of.

Inside the Leaky Cauldron the signs of magic were blatant, and Hermione was thrilled to have proof that it hadn’t all been a dream or a cruel practical joke. One man was stirring his coffee with a wave of his finger, while other tables appeared to be cleaning themselves and the barkeep was calling out orders such as ‘one glass of dragon’s blood’ and ‘two shots of fire whiskey.’ The more she looked, the more she saw. Up in the pub’s rafters a whole pack of owls sat looking mulishly out over the crowd while over the there sat a ginormous cauldron that was leaking a green viscous substance through the long crack in its side (the synonymous Leaky Cauldron she concluded). 

In the dusty back yard they followed McGonagall’s stringent instructions. Counting three bricks up and two across, Hermione rapped on the brick with her fist. For an agonizing millisecond in which she considered all the implications of the alley not opening under her touch, nothing seemed to happen. Then with a great groan, the wall began to fold in on itself, restructuring into an archway on to the most vibrant street the Granger’s had ever seen. Hermione practically ran through the gap and her parents had to grab hold of her before they lost her in the crowd.

Ever the practical family, the Granger’s had prepared a timetabled list of the stores they would need to visit and first up was Gringotts where they would exchange their Stirling for Wizard currency. The bank was an impressive marble building, so large it reassured Hermione – nothing this dominating could be part of her imagination. Having memorized McGonagall’s instruction pack back in September, Hermione was prepared for the goblins who manned the bank, but the violence of the message above the door and the hint of malice that lingered in their eyes, scared Hermione and she was quiet glad to be back on the street. The large bookshop seemed to be calling to her, but Hermione resisted. It was to be the final stop of their journey so they wouldn’t have to carry the inevitably mammoth number of purchases around for the rest of the day. Instead they headed to Ollivander’s to get her wand – something that was almost as exciting as the books!

The shop was dusty and dim inside and Hermione had to ring the bell several times before the aging wand maker emerged from the towering shelves. 

‘Good morning,’ he began in a raspy voice that raised the hairs on Hermione’s forearms. ‘What can I help you with today, Miss…?’

‘Granger,’ she supplied. ‘I’m about to start at Hogwarts and was told that this is the best place to come for a wand.’

‘Very good, very good. Well, if you could just hop onto this stool, I’ll take some measurements and we’ll start to find you a match.’ She did so and the long tape measure jumped off Ollivander’s shoulder and began to measure every inch of her. 

With so many questions and an apparent pause in proceeding, Hermione’s curiosity overwhelmed her. ‘Excuse me, Mr Ollivander? That sign above your door says that you’ve been here since 382 B.C. Is that true, sir?’

‘Oh indeed, Ollivander’s wand shop was here before London itself. For millennia wixen folk have been purchasing their wands here, even Merlin himself. The first wand we ever sold was a twelve-and-a-half-inch walnut with a core of Pegasus feather to Circe herself after she lost her last in the sacking of Thebes.’ Astonished, Ollivander’s frankness surprised Hermione use as she was to teachers dismissing her questions. By now the autonomous tape measure had completed its task and Ollivander began to present her with wands. The first three were hopeless, a quick swish caused nothing more than a slight disturbance in the dust, the fourth was downright alarming. As soon as her hand made contact the cuckoo clock began to incessantly ring causing Mrs Granger to let out a shocked yelp. Immediately dropping the wand, Hermione backed away taking deep breaths and trying to control the sense of panic that was overwhelming her as she made her first faux pas in the wizarding world. _Handle this_ the voice in her head demanded so, although terrified of rejection, Hermione looked up at the old wand maker and saw to her surprise that he was grinning.

‘Not to worry, Miss Granger. This is my favorite part,’ he said with a reassuring wink. The next wand he presented her with felt different from the rest. A warm tingling spread up her arm, as if she had just dunked it in a hot bath. Still worried about the last attempt, Hermione gave this one a gentle wave. To her astonishment, and great relief, the motion left a dazzling series of ribbons trailing in its wake.

‘Ah, I thought it might be. The distance between the left scapular and the heart can be very telling you know,’ remarked the wand maker cryptically. ‘Ten- and three-quarter inches, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core, rather inflexible but very powerful I would imagine. The core came from a female Peruvian Black. Very rare to find one of them, excessively protective mates but this one found me. Three heart strings it gave before it died. When I consulted an expert, he believed the dragon to have been over six centuries old. Very rare indeed. Yes,’ he said, coming back to himself. ‘I think this will serve you very well Miss Granger.’

Marvelling at the delicate pattern of leaves that ran across her new wand, Hermione didn’t pay attention to the stilted exchange of galleons as her parents attempted to use the new currency for the first time. Somehow, she found herself back in the street and the family hurried through the remaining shops before finally descending on Flourish and Blotts where she whiled away a very happy afternoon collecting not only her schoolbooks but a selection on recent wizarding history. She was tempted by the books on culture but with a spending limit, Hermione concluded that she would rather be up to date on events. After all, she couldn’t be the only new muggle-born student and the school must provide some basic introduction; Professor McGonagall hadn’t mentioned much details beyond the details pertaining to Hogwarts, claiming the school environment itself would instruct her on wizarding culture. Her mother had asked briefly about her words but the Professor had informed them that it was a topic for History of Magic and that she would learn at school. Vague and incomplete answers that left Hermione frustrated, but McGonagall had confirmed that the words only occurred on magical children as they were a product of magic itself.

With only 31 days until her departure, Hermione felt exhausted by the amount of information she had to consume, needing deep steadying breaths and a brief sit down on the floor of the shop before she felt strong enough to continue. There was just so much riding on her entry into this world. Her parents worried that she would be cutting herself off from a muggle future (what university would take OWLs and NEWTs?) and misguidedly tried to reassure her that if she wasn’t happy or didn’t fit in, Uncle Frank was more than willing to take on her tutelage. _I can’t let myself be eleven years behind, I have to make this work_ she bolstered herself and holding both her wrists, went back to investigating intriguing shelves of the bookshop. 

******************************************* 

Meanwhile, across the bustling alley, a tall blonde boy was being fitted for his first set of Hogwarts robes. It was the first time his parents had left him unsupervised but he was under strict instructions to maintain the Malfoy name so, despite his excitement, he attempted to keep a dignified posture and to emulate the expression of his father. Just as he was perfecting the haughty set of his face, a petit black hair boy with stunning emerald eyes entered looking terrified. Draco thought he looked beautiful and something deep inside him was upset at the tentativeness of the new boy’s walk.

‘Hullo – Hogwarts too?’ he questioned. The big green eyes that stood out so sharply against his brown skin met his and a small melodious voice replied.

‘Yes.’ At this simple statement, Draco felt a tingling on his ankle and, as discreetly as he could, lifted his overlong robes that the shop girl was tailoring. Sure enough, the simple script on his ankle was embellishing itself before his very eyes as an anatomical diagram of a heart inked itself behind his soul mark.

This was it – the moment he had been waiting eleven years for! His enthusiasm overcame his father’s instructions as he babbled to the boy about the only thing they had in common – Hogwarts. However, much to the young Malfoy scion’s dismay, the petit boy only replied in monosyllables and seemed to have tears in his eyes. Just when Draco was formulating a plan to comfort him, the perky shop girl declared him done and ushered him away to the till, leaving him only time for a hurried ‘see you at Hogwarts’ before the curtains of the fitting area separated them. Torn between his manners and his instincts, Draco allowed himself to be led towards the front of the shop. As he was handing over 1 galleon and 2 sickles, he took a chance.

‘I say,’ he began, aiming for a nonchalant tone, ‘who was that other boy getting fitted?’

The shop girl looked up from the till, checked that her manager (the estimable Madam Malkin herself) was still occupied, then leaned in conspiratorially.

‘Him? He’s… Harry Potter!’ she relayed, drawing out her whispered confession as excitement overwhelmed her. ‘And to think, I was this close to him! Just wait ‘til I tell Marianne…’ but the rest of her babble was filtered out in Draco’s awestruck mind. _Harry Potter, **the** Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived, the baby who vanquished the Dark Lord was **his** soulmate! _ A boy he had been brought up to despise and who was responsible for his family’s fall in reputation. A child who, as his father so often stated, was a good-for-nothing poster boy dedicated to the melomaniac Dumbledore and his irrational notions of community and inclusion. But here Draco stopped himself, remembering the big green eyes that had seemed so unsure, and the world-stopping smile when he talked of Hagrid. _No_ , he thought to himself, _that boy couldn’t be evil or wrong_. Fortified by his conclusion, Draco resolved to tell his mother that he had found his soulmate. 

Little could the shop-girl imagine, as she wandered home to gossip with her flatmate, that her confession to a small blond boy could have changed everything, could have helped end a war. For when little Draco’s breathless confession to his parents was over, Lucius floo-ed Dumbledore and offered his allegiance while Narcissa remained in their elaborately decorated parlor with Draco reminiscing in her lap. She smiled indulgently as he son tried to describe the exact shade of his soulmate’s eyes (apparently nothing from Salazar emerald to the decorative limes on the mantle would do him justice) and the adorable way his dark hair had flopped across his forehead, while tracing the beating heart that would forever sit on his ankle, marking the person who would love him unconditionally. 

And half a country away in his new bedroom, Harry stood twisting in front of the broken mirror to watch the small dragon circling the words that had finally made sense to him _Hullo – Hogwarts too?_ For years they had been a mystery, inciting the Dursley’s anger almost as much as his lighting bolt scar. He still didn’t know why they were there, or why this dragon had suddenly appeared, but they gave him hope and proof throughout the next hateful month, that it hadn’t all been a dream. The dragon was proof of the possibility of his escape.

*********** **TW** *************** 

In the final week of August, Mr and Mrs Granger returned to Beijing to present at CAPD conference and Hermione returned to Uncle Frank’s for week. It began much as it had before, a new gift that brought with it night-time kisses and roaming hands. He had repaired the TV since her last stay and the noises echoed through the house, followed by his heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs. It was the second day of her stay with the footfalls halted outside her room and the door cracked open.

Hermione never let herself go to sleep until she hear his door shut for the night but now, with his large head silhouetted against the landing light, she lay a still as she could, emulating sleep with everything she could muster.

‘Hermione, sweetie?’ he crooned into the darkness. Hermione clamped her eyes tightly, willing with everything she had that he would leave, that she could make something happen to distract him. But nothing happened and as the door opened wider, she vowed that she would do whatever it took to master her magic so it could be at her fingertip whenever she was desperate.

Uncle Frank lumbered into the room, picking up the two toys that Hermione had thrown out of bed as soon as he had left earlier. She heard him settled in the chair by the window and waited. It seemed a lifetime had passed, and she wandered if she had, in her panic, missed the sound of him leaving. Cautiously preparing to crack open one eyelid, the sound of a zip froze her. Ears desperately straining for any indication of what was happening, she struggled to make sense of the rustling noise but lay like a statue until several minutes later her uncle let out a heavy groan at her bedside. The shuffle of the door against the carpet alerted her to his leaving but not until Hermione heard his bedroom door close and she had counted to 100 did she dare to open her eyes again.

Looking around the dark bedroom, nothing seemed out of place but she felt disturbed, violated. Creeping out of bed, heart hammering, stomach turning and the feeling of ice in her veins, she retrieved the jumper she had been wearing. Without knowing why, she donned it, desperate to put layers between her skin and the room; then she crawled back under the covers, tucking them around her on all sides so they cocooned her from any contact with the air. Still trembling, it was many hours before she fell asleep.

The next morning Uncle Frank made no mention of the night before and greeted her with a smile as she sat on the far side of the table. Mostly he let her go about the day as she pleased, reading or exploring the back garden. Occasionally he would give her a tenner and encourage her to go to the local shops. He always handed it over with a joking ‘you’ll owe me for this one,’ but now Hermione was terrified he would soon start collecting this ‘debt’. _Only five days until Hogwarts, you can make it_ she assured herself, but when Uncle Frank held her in his lap that evening, slipping his hands under shirt and forcing her to rock back and forth, she didn’t feel in control at all. 

His breath was too hot against the back on her neck and made her squirm, but that drove his hands higher up her chest and rather than resting in place, or holding her in position, they started to roam. That had never happened before. His body seemed to be changing under hers and soon he began to move against her restricted body, pushing his hips against her back and legs. His head fell against her shoulder, panting. 

Hermione was shaking now but every attempt to get up seemed to delight him more and illicit a groan as he pulled her back into his lap. She felt herself shutting down, throat closing, refusing to give her voice; her eyes refusing to see and her skin becoming desensitised, detached. She was trapped inside this body that was being touched, unable to do anything but tremble as her uncle’s large hands gripped her, pushing and pulling her until, with his open mouth pressed against her neck, he shuddered and relaxed his grip.

She sat like a statue for several minutes but when Uncle Frank began to run his hands through her hair it was as if an elastic band had snapped and all her emotions came reeling back to her.

‘I want to go home,’ she stated as firmly as could despite violent trembling in her stomach that she fought to keep from her extremities.

‘Home, Hermione? But we were having fun,’ he murmured, slipping a finger under the collar of her shirt. It was as if her skin were on fire and he was ice running along and extinguishing her wherever he touched. Wrenching herself off his lap, Hermione turned to face him.

‘It wasn’t fun and I’m going to tell.’ The indulgent expression fell from his Uncle Frank and he transformed in front of her eyes. 

‘You will not be telling anyone,’ he began, reaching out and taking her wrist with none of his usual gentleness. It struck Hermione in a way that it never had before that he was a grown man with hands the size of her head while she was a child who wasn’t even wearing shoes. His grip tightened and he tugged her towards him, almost making her stumble. ‘You like it Hermione, it’s our secret and you like it.’ He pressed his lips into her but when she ducked her head, his free hand came around her throat and forced her to face him.

‘Hermione, don’t make it like this,’ he implored. ‘There is nothing to tell.’ Here, even with his hands imprisoning her body, Hermione knew he was wrong.

‘No. I don’t like it how you touch me. Its wrong and I’m going to tell my parents.’ His grip on her neck tightened.

‘Oh you silly little girl,’ he growled. ‘There is nothing to tell and even if you shared our little secret, they wouldn't believe you.’ Seeing that she was about to fight, he decided on a different track and released her. ‘This isn’t your only secret is it Hermione? I know about that school they want to send you to. Did you know they aren’t sure about letting you go? I could talk to them, you know. Convince them that their clever little girl should stay in our world, stay with them. Eleven is so young to be sent away. Do you know they want me to teach you this year? We could be together all the time and what we did just now would just be the start. They think you’re scared about going off to school so even if you tell them anything about us they won’t believe you. Do you want to spend the year with me?’ Following his manipulations in silence, here Hermione shook her head. ‘Well then, come back and sit on my lap, don’t say a word to your parents, and I’ll make sure that they let you go away to your new school.’ 

This worked as nothing else could. The threat of denying her Hogwarts, denying a fresh start and freedom, kept her mouth shut as he pulled her against his chest. Kept her mouth shut as he entered her room that night, pulling the sheets off her and then sitting in his chair until he was finished. Kept her mouth shut when, on her last night there, he sat on the bed instead, one hand inside his trousers and the other roaming across her body as she lay there pretending she was a corpse so this couldn’t be real and reciting passages from her text books, incantations that would be replace it all in just two days’ time.

But it didn’t keep her mind shut. On that final night of the summer, when the creaking on the landing had subsided, Hermione slipped out of her room and into the bathroom. In the stark lighting and confronted with her own wide-eyed reflection, she couldn’t contain the sobs that wreaked her. There were no tears, just as there was no air. Just a small body with a thumping heart, fight for breath, hands clutching at her face, holding her own nose, doing anything to stop the noise of her body failing to cope. She slid down against the tub, pulling at her disarranged clothing, suddenly claustrophobic, the sensation of anything touching her skin repellent. 

And as she shook harder, the pollution didn’t feel merely external. Her heart was pumping with enough force to shake her body, but the blood felt too hot under her skin. Everything was too hot. She tore the fabric from her wrists, rubbing them as if that could force the blood out of this pulsing ferocity. But nothing worked. Turning her head, stretching out the muscles, seeking out fresher cooler air, her eyes fell on the razor. Uncle Frank liked the aesthetic of a traditional razor and left out the open blade, resting on the soap. _Yes._ That would do. If she could get the blood out of her it would help, she would cool down, the pulsating would stop and she would be able to think again.

Still panting for breath, she lifted her tremoring frame off the floor, and swiped the razor. In her hands the metal felt cool. _Finally_. She pressed the flat edge against her face and was able to control her exhale for the first time since leaving the bedroom. Shaking, she turned her wrist over and brought the blade to it. But here she hesitated. Grounded a little by the fortifying coolness, her mind started to come back from its chaotic spiral and the implications of her actions began to sink in. Cutting her wrists wouldn’t just relieve the pressure, wouldn’t just cool the fire that felt as if it would consume her, it could be dangerous. Hermione knew she was small for her age and that blood loss was dangerous. With the tip depressing her skin she questioned herself. _Do I want to die?_ for a second she didn’t know the answer. That she didn’t want to keep living was affirmative, but to die? The script that was so rarely exposed stood out boldly against her pale skin. _Take care of yourself ¦ You made it_. They had been commands to stand up to her school yard bullies, assurances against Frank’s invasive touch, but now, under the luminescent bathroom lighting, they were a promise. A promise that the future so nearly within her grasp could be a reality. A promise that she would make it.

The next morning, the 31st August, Mr and Mrs Granger picked up a subdued Hermione who greeted them with wrists unbound. She was quiet on the journey home and throughout the special meal they had prepared for her last night. She responded to questions simply and excused herself early. They put her reticence down to her impending departure, four months was a long period of absence for an eleven-year-old. But in her room, Hermione sat by the thrice checked trunk, counting down the minutes until she could leave this all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So off to Hogwarts next! Will Fred and George finally meet Hermione?  
> Sorry they weren't in this one at all but hopefully the Draco/Harry bit made up for it?  
> I had wanted to post this with the next chapter so you wouldn't be left with such a sad Hermione but timing hasn't worked out. I know the ending of this was rough and is based on personal experience with panic attacks etc so (hopefully) feels quite real. But I promise things do get better/cheerier in the next chapter!
> 
> What are people thinking of it? Reviews really do make my day so I'd love to hear your thoughts.  
> Also, I'm looking for fanfic recommendations so if you have any favourites lmk, I'm a sucker for a soulmate trope :P


	6. The Hogwarts Express

**1st SEPTEMBER 1991** HERMIONE: 11, FRED & GEORGE: 13

On the journey to Kings Cross on the first morning of September Hermione was anxiously rereading ‘The Standard Book of Spells’ as her parents eyed her in the rear-view mirror. Over breakfast she had nearly had a panic attack when she realised she didn’t remember the wand motion for a siphoning charm and since then had buried herself in books. Mr and Mrs Granger were still second-guessing their decision to send Hermione away from _their_ world, concerned by the pressure she seemed to be putting herself under.

Once within the station, their anxiety eased at the ecstatic look on their daughter’s face and suddenly they both felt a little guilty at the amount of time they had spent travelling over the last few years. Kneeling down by the large trunk, Mr Granger looked up at his daughter.

‘You’ll do great things Hermione,’ he reassured her. ‘Work hard and keep your chin up.’

Joining her husband, Jean continued. ‘This will be a big change for you and if, at any point, you don’t feel comfortable, in the school or even in this new world, just let us know. We love you; one letter and we’ll have you home.’ But their words had the opposite effect on Hermione, acting more as a threat than encouragement. _Whatever happens this year, I won’t tell them a thing,_ she vowed.

‘Do you want us to come through with you?’ Her father asked, standing and placing a comforting hand on Hermione shoulder. He was eyeing the brick wall apprehensively despite the school letter's clear instructions.

‘No, it’s alright,’ she replied with false cheer. Hermione wanted to keep her two worlds as far away from each other as possible.

So, with a kiss on the cheek from each parent and a steadying breath, Hermione set off into the wizarding world alone. She took the wall at a confident walk and emerged onto a near empty platform, her parents’ words still echoing through her head. They had arrived early, allowing time for non-existent traffic, so the platform was nearly empty, only guards and a few other early-bird students loitering about. The scarlet steam engine was magnificent, and Hermione took a moment to appreciate it before pulling her trunk over to one of the alcoves and settling down to read. Rationally she knew that new students wouldn’t be expected to be perfect, but she still felt like an imposter and was doing everything she could to remedy the fact. Ever since her parents had mentioned the possibility of Uncle Frank commanding her education, she had vowed to achieve the best grades possible. Her parents argument centred around her mid-pack performance throughout primary school, concluding that she wasn’t stimulated in the traditional environment. Little did they know that the performance of complete mediocrity was curated to keep her out of the eyes of her peers or snappish teachers. In the new world, adults had proved themselves invested in answering her questions, encouraging even, and the content of the books was far more fascinating than algebra so she was prepared to achieve her academic potential. Curious about the interplay of intent and incantation, she settled herself against the brick wall with Waffling’s ‘Magical Theory’, not noticing as the platform filled up around her.

******************************

The morning at the Burrow had gone quite the other way. With four off to Hogwarts, Ginny too young to remain at home alone, and Arthur called away for a surprise raid on some jumping milk bottles, Molly was finding the morning stressful. Fred had ‘accidentally’ packed Ron’s trunk with a spontaneous firework that chose to explode as Percy carried said trunk down the stairs, causing its contents to spill everywhere. George was trying to entertain a crying Ginny by giving a gnome a swelling solution, but an unexpected interplay with the magical gnome blood and puffer-fish eyes had caused it to grow to nearly ten feet and was showing no signs of stopping (an interaction that he was careful to note in their black book of inventions). Molly managed to solve the issue with a shrinking charm but not before the giant had managed to terrify Errol into a dead faint. With unconscious owls, crying children and school supplies filling the house, Percy attempted to take charge of his younger brothers.

‘Now listen hear you three, I’m a prefect this year and it will not do for me to be late on the first day. The teachers expect me to set a good example and it simply won’t do for my siblings to arrive at the station in this state.’ But far from instilling discipline in his siblings, they fell to laughing; even Ginny, who had used his distraction to mime comically along to his well-rehearsed diatribe. All summer they had been hearing about the privilege of prefect-dom and it had become a source of much amusement to spark Percy into his speeches, they even had a bet about the longest one. Something Ginny had won after filling his room with chickens and a banner that read ‘Master of the red minions’. The new prefect had lectured his sister for over thirty minutes about the kind of behavior expected when she attended Hogwarts but it had won her the pot of three pots of Bertie Bots and five sugar quills, so she had grinned throughout the lecture. At the moment of their departure, Percy couldn’t delay them for more that ten seconds but, while his authority had certainly not been asserted, he had paused the chaos long enough for Molly to take control.

‘George – get Ginny in the car. Percy – pack the luggage and get Hermes. Ron, Fred – repack this trunk and by god if anything else explodes you will find yourselves taking a year out of Hogwarts.’ The last part was pointedly addressed to the twins who were still in her bad books after blowing up a sink as part of a WMW endeavor which had earned them a howler and a summer of corralling the ghoul into the loft. After her pronouncement, the family moved with a military efficiency and almost made it away with out incident, except that George remembered he had left his Hogsmeade permission slip on his bedside table and had to run back down the lane.

They arrived at Kings Cross with fifteen minutes to spare and were making their way hurriedly across the muggle section when Mrs Weasley caught sight of a small-black haired boy with a trunk and an owl looking rather lost. She nudged Percy and indicated with her head. Spotting the child, he turned to Ron and asked loudly: ‘Excited for Hogwarts, Ron?’

His younger brother looked baffled at him. Of course he was excited, what was Percy playing at. ‘Yeah,’ replied uncertainly, looking at his mother in case the prefect had finally gone mad. Pretending to scratch her head, Mrs Weasley pointed out the lonely boy who was now looking at his ticket in great confusion. Molly often did this when they found first years abandoned in the muggle station, clearly looking for Hogwarts. The tickets themselves only read ‘Platform 9 ¾ ‘ and Moly knew that the school instructions were only distributed to muggle-born children, a great oversight as it regularly left half-blood’s and foreign purebloods baffled when attempting to get to school for the first time. Whenever the Weasley’s spotted such children or families they tried to lead by example. 

However, the small boy didn’t seem to have heard Percy’s declaration and was now approaching a muggle ticket warden. They watched as he was dismissed and could see a growing panic in the way he stared around the station. Mrs Weasley elbowed the twins and shooed them away. They turned and went back around the pillars, emerging quite near the child.

‘Reckon Gryffindor could win the Quidditch cup this year?’ Fred asked loudly, not two meters from the boy.

‘Oh you know Hogwarts,’ replied George with a grin, overemphasizing the last word. They were past him now and the boy seemed not to have heard a thing. As they passed, they had noticed the tight grip he had had on his trolley and reported back to their mother.

‘Poor boy, must be scared out of his mind, first day of school and all. Ginny, Ron you give it a go. Here take Hermes.’ So, with an owl in hand the two youngest Weasley’s wandered past the petit boy.

‘I wish I could go on the Hogwarts Express,’ exclaimed Ginny as Ron almost rattled the cage as they passed by. But to no avail, the boy was too caught up in his own head to notice. 

‘Right,’ declared Molly, deciding it was time for a less subtle approach. ‘We’ll all go back.’ And back they went, almost to the door of the station. With only ten minutes until the train was to leave, the time pressure was building. If the boy didn’t notice them this time, she would go straight up to him, Statue of Secrecy be damned if he was a just a lost muggle boy. She had Percy rearrange the trunks so that the Hogwarts crest was visible and, for the first time ever, wished Errol was with them as she place Hermes on top of the stack. Re-entering the station she practically yelled at her family.

‘Packed with muggles of course.’ She looked at Fred who had been in charge of watching the boy. He gave a nod. ‘Now, what’s that platform number?’ she asked as loudly as she could.

‘Nine and three-quarters,’ Ginny replied in a loud singsong voice. And it worked. The black-hair boy looked up with dazzling green eyes and started to tail them through the station to the wall that marked the entrance to the wizarding world. She sent Percy through first who set off at a brisk march, then the twins after some customary tomfoolery. 

Knowing that their mother would assure that the first year made his way onto the platform, Fred and George set off to find their friends. Almost immediately they ran into Angelina who informed them that Lee had brought a tarantula to school this year and they dove into the smoke to find their best friend. A quick look back revealed the small boy emerging through the barrier with his eyes clamped shut.

*****************************

Hermione had been so absorbed in her book that she hadn’t noticed the time passing or the influx of people, only the shrill station whistle penetrated her bubble, making her jump. Checking her watch, she was alarmed to see that the train would leave in only seven minutes! Hurriedly she heaved her trunk over to the luggage cart and began to make her way over to the compartments. 

The platform was now very loud, the steam filling it so you only caught flashes of people and snippets of conversation from the indistinct muddle this close to the engine. She’d never had a problem with crowds but, with the threat of her uncle hanging over her and the feel of his hands still imprinted on her skin, each booming voice seemed to be his. Each shadowy figure was replaced by the crack in her bedroom door and her uncle’s looming silhouette. Her breath came faster, narrowing her vision, blurring the features of all around her until everywhere she looked she saw her uncle’s face _you silly little girl_ , a hand was reaching out for her, she turned to run towards the safety of the carriages and careered straight into older boy and fell to the floor. Her right wrist tingled, telling Hermione that she had scrapped it as she fell, but with the two tall figures standing over her she turned tail and disappeared into the smoke.

George stood baffled, watching the small girl with the big brown eyes vanish. He and Fred had been working their way along the length of the train looking for Lee when, out of nowhere, she had crashed into him. She had fallen to the floor but leapt up before either twin could offer assistance. For only a moment they had made eye contact and George was oddly bothered by the tearful glint. He didn’t make a habit of making first years cry, only when pranks went badly wrong and even then they made it up with sweets, and with younger siblings he had seen his fair share of tears. But this bothered him on a more fundamental level and knowing he knocked her down was making him feel rather sick. Unfortunately, she had disappeared before he had gotten a good look at her. The sick feeling vanished with the girl and he was left rubbing unconsciously at his collar bone where it tingled from the crash. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds and Fred had watched the collision with a bemused gaze, knowing his brother was still unaccustomed to their recent growth spurt. He elbowed his twin.

‘Come on. Lee has to be up here somewhere.’ But their arachnid hunt was cut short when they saw the boy from the platform struggling with his trunk.

Hermione had gained control of her breathing and the stinging on her right arm grew worse so she sequestered herself in the first nearly empty carriage she could find. Inside was a small, round boy who was bouncing his knee in an agitated manner.

‘Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?’ she asked. He looked as nervous as she felt so maybe they could calm each other on the ride to school. If she could prove herself useful now, he might want to be friends

‘Of course, come in. I’m Neville,’ he invited, offering his hand. When she shook it, he exclaimed: ‘You’re bleeding!’

‘I’m Hemione Granger and I know, I fell on the platform,’ replied Hermione, rolling her eyes at his statement of the obvious. ‘Here could you give me a hand?’ She put down her rucksack and with drew a plaster from her front pocket, smiling at her mum’s insistence that she always had a first aid kit. They used an antiseptic wipe to clear most of the blood off but the worst scraps were over her wrist. 

‘I’m sorry but I think your bracelet might be ruined. If you take it off we could put on the plaster and I’m sure one of the teachers at school will be able to fix it for you,’ Neville proposed. Hermione hadn’t noticed the tear in the fabric around her wrist. It was odd to see it tattered when her parents always made sure they were so straight and neat. 

‘Oh, I might be able to do that,’ she said, then realizing that might be showing off and cause the new boy to exclude her like her muggle peers, she clarified. ‘ I mean, I’ve practiced the spell in my head and I suppose now we’re on the school train magic is allowed,’ she reasoned as she undid the knot. Laying the fabric out, Hermione pulled the wand out from within her bag, cleared her throat and confidently stated ‘Reparo’ as she pictured the rip sealing in her mind. To her great pleasure, the loose ends sought out their counter parts and neatly sealed themselves. With a slight hesitance, she checked Neville’s reaction. 

‘That was incredible!’ he effused. ‘Brilliant! You’re going to be great at charms, I’m rubbish at everything I’ve ever tried,’ he finished sadly. ‘Here, let’s put the plaster on.’ Shyly Hermione turned her injured wrist over, she’d never had her bracelets off in front of another person, let alone showing them her words. She felt oddly exposed and as she revealed the bloody skin both she and her new friend gasped.

‘Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you show your soul mark!’ he exclaimed going red and clearly very embarrassed. But Hermione was staring fascinated at the words which had always been black against her skin but now, were a rich cobalt. The blue was so mesmerising she didn’t immediately process what Neville had said.

‘My soul mark? You mean my words?’ she asked and he nodded.

‘Are you, um, muggle-born?’ he replied, not wanting to be rude but being unable to think of another explanation. 

‘Yeah, why? Does everyone know about them? Professor McGonagall said they are part of the magic of wizarding children.’

‘Well, I don’t know much about the theory, but soul marks are symbols of your soulmate,’ he explained, the wonder in his voice alerting Hermione to the significance of the statement. _Soulmates_ she thought sarcastically. Sure, the muggle world had them in story books, but they weren’t real _but neither was magic until last year_ she countered herself.

‘It’s never been blue before,’ she said quietly looking down at the _you made it_ that decorated her skin.

‘Never? When did it change?’ asked Neville, practically squealing in excitement. ‘Soul marks appear when the youngest one of the partnership is born and then stay the same until you meet _the one_. The first time you ever touch them, the colour will change and when the are spoken,’ a blissful smile spread over his face in anticipation, ‘they are decorated, embellished. An image that marks the soul of the other appears.’ 

‘The first words they’ll ever say?’ she questioned. ‘Doesn’t that mean loads of people have really silly marks, just introductions or something?’ She found that idea rather mundane. Her words had always been so resonant for her, seemed so particular and supportive. The idea that they were just what someone else would say to her, a throw away comment, seemed insulting. They were hers.

‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ continued Neville, clearly enamored by the idea. ‘The myth is that magic herself pairs souls and that the marks will define the relationship, a perfect example of who you will be to each other or how your relationship will be. Hardly anyone gets anything as simple as an introduction. My dad’s said _I guess we’re the brave ones_ and my mum’s said _’heroes’_. They’d both just been sorted into Gryffindor,’ here he grew sad again, ‘and it all came true when the war came.’ Always attuned to the emotional subtleties of others, having concealed so much herself, Hermione could see how gloomy the topic made her new friend and decided not to push. 

Pacified a little by his explanation, she processed what he had said. _the first time you ever touch them, the colour will change_. She had touched her soulmate then. But who were they? The words had been black in her shower that morning, so she had probably run into them on the platform, but that didn’t narrow it down at all. It had been crowded and she must have touched a hundred people as she weaved between them, not checking anyone’s face. She sighed then realised her other words were still unchecked. With bated breath she took off the other bracelet but the _take care of yourself_ was as black as ever. However, her relieved sigh was overwhelmed by Neville’s gasp. 

‘You have two?’ he almost whispered.

‘Yeah, but it must be really common in the magical world,’ trying to sound confident, she couldn't bear to be a freak here too. As it happened, she knew almost nothing about soul marks apart from what Neville had just said. Shocked at her own ignorance she racked her brains. A vague recollection of ‘partners’ and ‘marks’ from ‘A History of Magic’ formed in her mind but she didn’t remember the details. She cursed herself and resolved to focus on that text the minute she got into bed that night, she’d have to do better to assure herself (and her parents) of her comfort in the new world.

‘Actually, no,’ Neville brought her back to their present conversation. ‘Triad bonds are really rare, and super powerful. I think there are only, like, two in recorded history. Some foreign wizards in Brazil I think, and then Merlin, Morgana and Mordred. The bond makes them famous as much as their deeds.’ At this point he seemed to realise he had been staring rudely at her wrists for several minutes and Hermione was starting to get uncomfortable. ‘Here, I’ll show you mine. It’s only fair after all,’ he offered.

‘No, don’t if they’re supposed to be private -’ she protested but Neville cut her off.

‘They’re not private, just special. And I’d like to share it with my friend,’ he finished hopefully. At this Hermione grinned, _he wants to be my friend_ and this filled her with more happiness than the prospect of an unidentified soulmate, even if she had been close enough to touch one. At her smile, Neville shyly unbuttoned the top of his shirt, pulling the fabric down far enough to reveal the script that ran up his sternum. _Your cheeks are like dirigible plums_.

‘Dirigible plums?’ she asked bewildered, never having heard of such a species.

‘Yeah,’ Neville replied with a self-conscious chuckle. ‘I’ve no idea what they are. A few years ago I decided to look them up but I’ve searched every book I could find and they don’t seem to exist. I suppose it might have been a waste of time but I’ve found out loads of interesting stuff that I never would have if I wasn’t looking for her. I'm really excited to start Herbology. Did you know there is a plant called a Puffapod that flowers when ever they’re touched?’ his voice faded off, nervous about his outburst, but Hermione only grinned. She had never had a friend who wanted to talk about knowledge before.

‘That’s really cool,’ she encouraged. ‘I’ve never heard of a Puffapod but I do know that there are forty species of plum in the muggle world.’ 

The two new friends beamed at each other and spent several happy minutes chatting about plants before Neville pointed out the bloody hole in her trousers from where she had fallen and suggested that she change into her robes. However, as she slipped back into the carriage, the toad that had been snoozing in Neville’s lap, made a break for freedom and hopped out the door.

‘Trevor!’ cried Neville who immediately stuck his head out the compartment. ‘He’s gone!’

‘Oh Neville, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see him,’ apologized Hermione, was this the end of their friendship?

‘It’s okay,’ sighed Neville, ‘he does this all the time. Could you help me find him before we get to Hogwarts? I don’t want to leave him on the train.’

‘Of course!’ and the two of them slipped out of the compartment and headed off in opposite directions down the train. She asked in a few compartments, but no-one had seen the escapee. As she was about to knock on the fourth door, she peaked through the window and saw a flash of naked skin. Cheeks flushing and realising that they were changing, Hemione moved passed into the next carriage where two boys were apparently about to try out some magic and, feeling emboldened by her Reparo success, Hermione thought she might stand a chance at making some more friends.

******************************

In the compartment she had skipped over the twins and Lee were all changing into their school robes. Fred was mostly done when Lee stopped short, trousers half on, staring at George’s bare chest.

‘Bloody hell, mate,’ he exclaimed. The twins laughed at their friend.

‘I know I’m irresistible Lee but pick your jaw back up,’ said George with a wink.

‘No mate, your chest,’ insisted Lee, eyes still wide. Baffled George looked down and let out a low whistle. Fred had jumped up and was turning his twin to face the window for better light. Running along his left collar bone the black _you're in my light_ was now a shimmering gold. 

‘Did you feel anything?’ quizzed Fred.

‘No, I mean, maybe a tingling back on the platform?’ puzzled George.

‘You know what this means?’ said a gleeful Lee, ‘your soul mate is at Hogwarts.’

‘We just need to work out who it is,’ concluded Fred. And none of the three boys notice the bushy brown head that hurried past their compartment door as they settled back in wonder for the rest of the journey to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought that we'd get into Hogwarts a bit but this chapter was already so long! I don't have a beta and am dyslexic so if you notice anything that needs correction pls let me know :)
> 
> The first 'meeting'! What did you think? And do we like this Neville? Does anyone have a favourite soul mark so far? Do you like the Weasley family dynamic?
> 
> Next Chapter: a bit of Draco and Harry, more interaction between our three and maybe even friendship between the golden trio.
> 
> Thank you so much for the reviews, kudos, comments etc they really make my day :P  
> I can't believe it's only been a week that I have been working on this but I hope you are all enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it x


	7. The Sorting

Ron had always struggled to find his place in the family, he knew that he was loved but he didn’t really know where he fit. He wasn’t a prankster, wasn’t academic, wasn’t a daredevil, what he’d always wanted to be was a big brother. But then Ginny came along and was fiercely independent; she didn’t need someone to hold her hand and protect her. Sure, the Weasley family often had their work cut out preventing her from serious injury, but she always bounced back smiling and asking to go again. Bill had put a sticking charm on the smallest broom when it became apparent that she was going to learn to fly alone and her soul mark _watch out!_ had become a bit of a family catchphrase. No, Ginny didn’t need an older brother and without that Ron had never really been sure what to do with himself. But on the Hogwarts Express that morning he had accidentally stumbled upon a small black hair boy with broken glasses and bright cautious eyes and had found in him someone who needed him to be exactly who he was. 

From the moment they had spotted him alone on the platform Ron had taken to his task of directing with glee, rattling Hermes’ cage so hard that he had actually been nipped on the finger. He hadn’t intended to seek him out on the train but when Ron spotted the boy hunched in the corner of an empty compartment he couldn’t help himself and, lying that all the others were full, had settled in for a train ride of gentle coxing the younger boy out of his shell. He had forgotten himself slightly when the lightning bolt scar was revealed but the boy had seemed just as fascinated by him, asking loads of questions about what it was like growing up in the wizarding world. Ron felt his heart swell as the anxiety in the quiet boy’s face seemed to ease, Ginny had never come to him for advice (true, there wasn’t that much that could concern a nine-year-old) and Ron reveled in the support he could provide. He had secretly always thought he was quiet like his mother as he enjoyed taking care of people.

When the trolley lady had come past Harry had kindly offered some of his sweets and Ron in turn encouraged him to start his own chocolate frog collection, a hobby of most wizarding children and something that might help make friends with the other children. He had been a bit embarrassed when a girl came in to watch his magic, even more so when it failed, and she pointed out the dirt on his nose from the fireworks explosion that morning.

When they alighted the train, he felt proud that Harry took the sleeve of his robe and led him over to the giant figure of Hagrid. At the beginning of the journey Ron had been concerned how Harry flinched away from contact but he seemed to have settled into their newfound friendship, eight hours on a train really did cement a friendship.

Hermione had followed Neville towards the boats as he lead them to a half full craft with the boys she had met earlier, but the rocking boat seemed incredibly unsteady. Neville carefully scrambled in and then offered a hand to her.

‘What if we fall in?’ she asked, feeling a little foolish. The red-head (Ron, she remembered) laughed but the small black haired hero that she had read about offered an encouraging smile. Neville too seemed bemused.

‘Don’t worry, it’s magic,’ her first friend reassured. When all the first years were aboard, the giant leading them gave a command and the small fleet set off as one. The passage across the humongous lake was smoother than expected, skimming across the surface with what could only be magical speed, and suddenly Hogwarts stood before them. The castle was bigger than seemed practical, but Hermione remembered reading in ‘Hogwarts – A History’ that the castle changed according to the contemporary needs and often preserves aspects of the architecture for posterity. In 1678 the castle had sprouted an entire tower to house the experimentations of the alchemist Ayaln Latem when she visited from France and discovered the method of distilling billywig stings and floated all sixteen stories to the top of the structure. The castle had retained it as the largely unused East Tower. Hermione whispered all this to Neville as the boats arrived at a set of stone steps carved into the cliff, each awed ‘wow’ encouraging her and assuring her that her place in the wizarding world could be secured, after all she had already made a friend.

**************************** 

Draco was as the edge of the large group of first years, tailed by the lumbering Crabbe and Goyle. His father had sat him down and carefully explained the seriousness of the situation. While Draco knew his father would protect Harry at all costs, nobody else could find out. Lucius was to act as a spy but in order to keep everyone safe, they had to pretend that nothing had changed. That meant keeping up with old acquaintances, maintaining appearances and continuing to espouse the traditional pureblood values. It also meant that Draco was stuck befriending these two fools who had done nothing so far except pick on smaller children, even taking sweets off a diminutive second year. Bored by their company, Draco was looking forwards to seeing his godfather and finally getting sorted into Slytherin (his father’s allegiance had changed, not his entire personality). 

Suddenly in the crowd he spotted a mop of perfectly disordered dark hair. He had kept an eye out on the train but hadn’t seen his soulmate so now was the moment. Taking a deep breath and smoothing back his hair, Draco pushed off the wall and went over to introduce himself. However, as he got to the front of the group he noticed how Harry, _his Harry_ was giggling with a ginger boy immediately recognisable as a Weasley. He shook himself slightly, overcoming his jealousy; he wanted Harry to have friends, to have anything in the world that would make him happy… but he did wish that the charming smile was directed at him instead. Upon closer examination, Draco could see the hints of nervousness that had surrounded his soulmate in Diagon Alley and decided to try and make their first conversation casual so not to overwhelm him anymore.

‘So, it’s true then, what they’re saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts,’ but instead of focusing on him, Harry’s eyes were fixed on the two large boys at his back. Seeing the concern in the emerald eyes, Draco introduced them and then himself, getting in a nervous muddle and leading with his surname causing him to self-correct and resulting in an appearance of arrogance that he hoped at least came across as suave. 

Unfortunately, the red-head who was stood so comfortably alongside _Draco’s_ soulmate, whose sleeve was caught in Harry’s delicate fingers, had the audacity to laugh. Without thinking Draco lashed out at the ginger interloper; he had spent a month waiting for this moment and now the weasel was ruining it. He took a deep breath to control his temper and extended his hand to Harry. _This was it, the moment of contact_. An embarrassing amount of Draco’s summer had been taken up doodling the heart on his ankle in every colour of ink he could find in the manor and each made it look more special than the last.

But his hand just hung there in the empty space between them as Harry coolly rejected him. _Didn’t he understand?_ He was Draco’s 'yes', the one who would accept him without stipulations, _why wasn’t he touching him?_ He felt a red flush creep up his neck as Harry turned to his friend for reassurance. _Fine_ , thought Draco reflexively, if he didn’t want to be friends Draco could get Harry to pay attention to him in other ways and with all the determination of an apparently jilted eleven-year-old, Draco decided he didn’t need a soulmate anyway. But this vindictive plan was almost stopped in its tracks at the signs of stress manifesting on the petit boy’s face as a result of the confrontation. The way he bit his lip would have been adorable if Draco hadn’t been the cause of the anxiety, as it was Draco began to feel a little sick himself. The widening of the emerald eyes behind the broken spectacles alerted him a moment too late and he felt a roll of parchment rap on his shoulder. Turning around, Draco tried not to cower under the intimidating glare of Professor McGonagall and, as coolly as he could, he slinked aside. 

After her speech and before they entered the Great Hall, many of the new students screamed as people appeared out of the walls. There must have been at least twenty of the spirits in all shapes, ages and eras zooming over the amazed heads. One enthusiastic apparition, a friar by the look of his garb did a series of quite phenomenal backflips to a scattering of applause and causing a sandy haired boy to draw attention with his exclamation: ‘did ya see that ghost?!’ 

Next to him a tall black boy was staring at the Irish boy in wonder before replying. ‘This place is fantastic,’ came his gentle voice but it caused the other boy to whip around. Both stared at their palm which were tingling and changing in front of their eyes. Seamus (for that was the name of the sandy-haired boy) watched as a quill inked itself onto his skin, tracing his words and fluttering slightly in a non-existent breeze. Dean meanwhile was grinning as what seemed to be a series of eruptions appeared behind his words. They quickly introduced themselves and shyly touched fingertips. Colour bloomed across their marks, a deep indigo for the quill and constantly flickering sienna for the explosions.

The rest of the first years tried not to intrude on this intimate moment but were all fascinated. Harry, having no idea of the significance of the events but entranced just as much as the others, gently pulled on Ron’s sleeve again.

‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.

‘They just found their soulmates,’ Ron replied, looking down fondly at his new little brother as they were lead into the hall to face the sorting.

************************* 

Fred and George were board at the Gryffindor table, it always took far to long to organise the firsties and they were getting hungry. To offset the dullness, they had taken up a discreet bet and were flicking Bertie Bots beans into the hood of Percy’s robe, seeing how full it would be before he noticed. They kept it up as McGonagall lead the column up to the front, as she passed she gave stern glare that they knew well and immediately halted their shenanigans. They were keen to see their youngest brother sorted but the alphabetical organisation meant they had to wait almost to the end. 

However, the usual monotony was broken when a small girl walked with absolute confidence up to the stool. The hat covered her eyes and there was a clear moment of deliberation. Unaware that the other was as fascinated as they were, each twin wonder about the dilemma. Which house could be being considered? What qualities was the hat weighing up? After nearly a minute the rip opened and loudly declared ‘GRYFFINDOR.’

Smiling with disproportionate relief, Fred and George cheered loudly as the beaming girl joined their table. She sat nervously next to Percy who insisted at being by the empty section of the table, the better to fulfil his prefect duties and greet the incoming students. Looking up the table at her new family, Hermione blinked at the double grins from the twins a little further up the table, before shaking herself free from their sky-blue eyes and turning to watch her peers. As the sorting progressed the noise reached record levels when Harry Potter joined the Gryffindor’s, but excitement seemed to wain by the time the W’s were reached as everyone was now preoccupied with thoughts of the Welcome Feast that would soon be appearing. 

Ron made his way to the stool with a confidence he didn’t feel. As the ancient hat fell over his eyes, he jumped at the voice that echoed around his head. ‘Ah, the next Weasley. I wondered when you’d be coming along. Now then, now then, where to place you? Not the most cunning I see but ah yes, incredibly loyalty and a good heart. What do you think Ronald? A break from the family tradition?’ Ron felt his forehead start to sweat, knowing everyone was watching. He knew his family didn’t really mind about sorting, a few jokes from the twins maybe, but he might get some independence if he went to Hufflepuff as the hat seemed to be suggesting. But then a pair of emerald eyes seemed to glisten in his head and Ron relived the anxious gaze Harry had thrown to him as he got absorbed by the noise at the red table. Not sure if the hat actually wanted an answer he thought back as hard as he could.

_I’d like to follow Harry please Mr Hat, he needs me. I’d like to be a Gryffindor._

‘Loyal indeed!’ the hat declared. ‘Yes, the boy hero will need friends like you and it seems you need him. It takes a brave soul to ask for what you need and an even braver one to sacrifice what you want. You may never leave the shadows in Gryffindor, Ronald Weasley,’ the hat warned.

_I don’t care about me really, I want to be there for him._

With what felt like a smile (can the inside of a hat smile?), the tear opened and loudly declare ‘GRYFFINDOR’ to the hall. But just as it was to be lifted off his head the hat left him with one last piece of advice. ‘Remember you asked for this Ronald, when it gets dark. Remember you chose who you wanted to be, now you just have to live it.’ A bit startled by these remarks, he headed over to the table that held his siblings, blood and otherwise.

As the meal progressed Hermione fell into easy conversation with Percy, and the twins began scheming with Lee (they had already received several WMW requests on the train), occasionally sneaking furtive glances at the cute brunette. When the meal was concluded, Percy jumped to his feet for his first official duty, but the authoritative effect was rather ruined by the cascade of sweets that fell from his robes. The first years laughed as Ron shot a knowing look at his twin brothers who were in stiches. Trying to regain control, Percy lead the first years out of the hall, Neville by Hermione’s side, Ron stood proudly behind Harry, and Seamus and Dean shyly holding hand, soul marks pressed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than the last two but it made sense to cut it off here for now but never fear, the next bit is already being written!
> 
> I hope the transition in focus isn't confusing. It will primarily be a Hermione/Fred/George story but I really love exploring the different character's views to really attempt to round out their new characterisation. Also, I used the Harry/Draco meeting from the films not the books so the timeline didn't have to keep jumping back and forth - I hope people don't mind!
> 
> Also one of my favorite fan theories I have read about Hogwarts is that each of the Golden Trio would be perfect for another house but they all _asked_ to be in Gryffindor and that is the defining characteristic of the house, the brave thing is to ask for what you want. You might not agree but it really resonated with my imagination so I tried to do that here :)
> 
> It's been exactly a week since I first posted Chapter One and I am so thrilled by the response :) the fact that anyone even thinks it might be fun to read is so heart-warming and I hope that you stick with me in this story! so thankful for everyone who has got involved x


	8. Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This largely follows the first year canon up to Christmas but from different view points.

Draco’s head slumped against the Slytherin table. He was mortified. They had had their first flying lesson that afternoon and not only had the idiot lion Longbottom managed to fall and hurt himself, cutting the lesson short for the entire class, Draco had managed to make a complete fool of himself in front of Harry. For a week and a half he had been unable to catch Harry’s eye and had spent most evenings morosely staring at his ankle, knowing that it was his fault for insulting Weasley, while Crabbe and Goyle complained loudly about the small amount of homework they had been set. He had made a few friends with the other first year Slytherins (being a Malfoy did have its perks), none of them made him feel like the few seconds with his soulmate. He was in an undeniable slump.

When Hooch had rushed away with the broken boy, Draco really had only been commenting on the fallen gift, intending to pick it up and return it to a teacher; but it was the first time Harry had looked at him in days and Draco got a bit carried away with himself. Taking to his broom he had sored above his classmates, showing off, and when Potter had joined him it all seemed like a game. He hadn’t meant to toss the stupid ball towards the castle, but he was a quidditch player not some muggle baseball star – throwing really wasn’t his forte. He had been intending just to throw it gently into Harry’s hands, but it had gone widely awry and left his hand with far more force than he had meant it to. 

His heart had been in his throat as Harry had dived after the Remembrall with reckless abandon ( _Gryffindors_ , he sighed) and internally cheered with the rest when he’d caught it in a spectacular move. But even Draco knew that he must have come across as a bully, intentionally trying to destroy the injured boy’s property, hence his current mood. All afternoon, Crabbe and Goyle had been going on about how arrogant Harry was, outraged he hadn’t been expelled. 

It was the sight of the current Gryffindor beater’s cheerful chatting to their enemy that drove them over the edge, causing them to storm over to the lion’s table, literally dragging Draco behind them by his robes. After a bit of posturing by Goyle and stellar comebacks from Harry, Crabbe took them all by surprise.

‘I’d take you on any time,’ he began in his gruff voice. ‘Wizard’s Duel tonight? Or hasn’t Potty ever learnt about them?’ Draco could see from the way he was biting his lip again that Harry hadn’t and was strangely grateful to the Weasel for stepping up for his soulmate.

‘Of course he knows,’ Ron defended staunchly. ‘I’m his second. Whose yours?’ Knowing that Goyle was less use magically than an actual forest stick, Crabbe nominated Draco who rolled his eyes.

_Why do bad things always happen to me?_ he lamented as the details for the duel were set for midnight. He spent the rest of the evening convincing Crabbe not to go, knowing that his father had already instructed him in some painful curses that Draco was sure Harry would have no idea how to defend against. Eventually he got through to the thug by convincing him that it would be far better revenge to set Filch on the Gryffindor’s than take any risk themselves. 

‘Far more Slytherin,’ he concluded, and this sealed the matter. Within the House of Snakes there was a system of esteem, a social ladder you could climb through the trading of information and secrets, and the performance of acts of cunning. While Crabbe was thick, he was not entirely with out a brain and knew that he would need to follow Malfoy’s lead to make any progress within the house and reap any of the rewards. So when midnight came, the three Slytherins were safely tucked up inside their dormitory while four unwitting Gryffindor’s found themselves roaming the corridors. 

********************* 

Across the castle a very anxious Hermione was winding her dressing gown cord through her fingers. She was getting more nervous by the second and only managed to maintain a regular breath pattern by rehearsing what she would say to her housemates if they did make an appearance. She didn’t go so far as to call them friends. After only two weeks in the new world, finding friends was still proving allusive (apart from sweet Neville who stayed by her side and always volunteered to pair up). She was hoping that involving herself in this imprudent adventure she could get the boys to see that the rules helped keep things clear and that running around breaking them was no plan at all. From what she’d observed, the magical world was as much a sanctuary to Harry as it was to her and she wouldn’t let him throw it away, even if they weren’t really friends. 

As the minutes ticked passed, she watched the common room empty, only slightly surprised when the red-hair twins headed out of the portrait hole instead of up to bed. Hermione had found her gaze often wandered to those two when she was taking a break from studying. It was hard not to as they seemed to be at the centre of Gryffindor life. She envied their easy smiles and the tactile way they interacted with all those around them. She had yet to touch anyone apart from Neville, she still felt her skin crawl at skin on skin contact and it always made her break out in a sweat; but Neville was different. His earnest eyes and gentle friendship encouraged her, her first friend had become a rock in the storm, one she was just learning to cling onto. 

Thinking of Neville she winced, reliving the crack as he had fallen from his broom that morning (it had done nothing to dispel her own fear of flying!). He still hadn’t come back and now it was half past eleven. _He must be spending the night in the Hospital Wing_ , she concluded. She was just trying to work out what time she should visit him in the morning when the creak of the stairs brought her back. She hated that sound. The squeaking instantly reminded her of Uncle Frank’s night-time prowling, and her breath came quicker as she anticipated the coming confrontation. Sure enough, Harry and Ron appeared from the stairwell and she flicked the light on to prove they’d been caught. It was a bit dramatic, but she’d had over an hour to plan it. 

Without really knowing how, her protests had resulted in Hermione too being trapped outside the portrait hole. Only Neville, who they’d discovered trapped out of the tower, going along with the other boys convinced her to stay with them, muttering under her breath as the panic of discovery rose. Every creak or shift in the old castle seemed to be the footsteps of a professor for certain, nothing good ever came from wandering around against the rules of adults. And the boys were so loud! Hermione was sure that magic must have been involved to get them to the Trophy Room undiscovered. 

Once they were there all her dire warnings and worst fears came true, the scheming Slytherins weren’t there at all and in their place was the ominous mutterings of Filch! Terrified they all ran for it, Hermione nearly outstripping the others. She couldn’t be caught. _There’ll be so much trouble_ she thought as images of letter to her parents filled her mind. They would take her home, place her with Uncle Frank, condemn her to years of intrusive kisses and invasive hands.

When the four of them collided with a locked door and the sound of Filch’s shuffling footsteps grew ever louder, she practically screamed at the others to move aside. 

‘Alohomora,’ she cried, wishing for the door to unlock more than anything she had ever wished for in her life. And it did. The power of her spell could not be comprehended by four panicked pre-teens in the moment, but the strength of her magic, fueled by a gut-wrenching desperation as it was, had over come some of the most secure locking charms the best minds in the wizarding world could come up with. However, the children were more impressed by the contents of the room than their method of entry. For, when Filch had finally moved off, they realised the empty corridor was anything but, as a mammoth dog with three snapping heads went for them, pulling violently at the limits of its metal leash. 

Harry got them all out of the room, used to thinking quickly when in physical danger, and the exhausted Gryffindor’s all hightailed it back to the tower.

‘What do they think they’re doing keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?’ exclaimed Ron, who having got his breath back, was casting an appraising eye over Harry.

‘You don’t use your eyes, do you? Didn’t you see what it was standing on?’ challenged Hermione. 

‘I wasn’t looking at the floor, I was too busy with it’s heads. There were three of them in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he snarked back.

‘No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It was obviously guarding something,’ Hermione retorted. The significance of the night’s events was starting to process for her and the realisation of how close she had come to actually getting expelled restored her temper along with a rising edge of anxiety. Suddenly all she wanted was to be alone, so she lashed out at the boys. ‘Now why don’t you go off to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed – or worse expelled.’ With that she slumped down into an armchair, not noticing Harry and Ron slinking away as her control spiraled. 

Before she knew it, hot tears were racing down her cheeks and she could only breathe in inconsistent gasps. She had forgotten Neville who had collapsed by the fire as soon as they returned. After watching for a moment, not sure what to do, he cautiously placed himself on the arm of her chair and put a soft hand on her shoulder. She shuddered violently, as if she had been holding her breath until the contact and, scared he was making things worse, he moved to pull it away. But Hermione grabbed it with shaking fingers, desperate for a solid connection to reality rather than the catastrophe that was happing inside her head. Emboldened by her move, Neville ran his hand softly through her hair, murmuring words of comfort.

The sanctuary of the common room was disturbed when the portrait hole banged open and the Weasley twins bounded in. As soon as they were through, George grabbed Fred’s arm clearly sensing they were intruding on something. By the fire they could see a first year (Neville?) sitting on the arm of a chair they could only see the back of. With the noise of their entry over, they could hear the gulping breathing of the chair and unconsciously both twins moved closer. The first year looked up at them and gently gestured towards the stairs, encouraging the twins to give them some space. Nodding and giving an encouraging smile George led the way to the stairs but when their first foot touched the stone step, Fred touched his shoulder. Glancing at his twin, he could tell that Fred too was suffering a twisting feeling in their gut. They turned back to look back at the person Neville was helping.

It was Hermione, they both clearly remembered her name from the sorting. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking; it broke their hearts to see her so upset. Casting around for something to help that wouldn’t crowd her, George went to another sofa to retrieve a weighted scarlet blanket that he passed to a thankful Neville who, in turn, tucked it around Hermione’s shoulders. Her breath was coming more slowly now, falling into a recognizable pattern, somehow soothed by the quiet, caring activity around her. Fred dug into his school bag and pulled out some chocolate they had been intending to charm. He had learnt that it helped counter the demobilising effects of Dementors so maybe it would do some good now. Like his twin, he passed his offering to Neville for when she was up to it. Not wanting to hover or embarrass the young girl, the twins carefully retreated to their dormitory leaving the boy gently stroking Hermione’s hair. Neither slept well that night, at three o’clock by unspoken agreement they tiptoed back into the common room and were relieved to find it empty, the first years finally having retired to their dorms. Comforted at the thought, the twins managed a few fitful hours before their bed-stripping alarm roused them.

***************************** 

Hermione woke on her birthday a few days later to find a small collection of presents had magically appeared at the foot of her bed. The first two were from her parents, a book about muggle scientist and a novel she had been waiting for. The next was a collective gift from her dorm mates who had clubbed together to by her a big box of tooth flossing string mints, an in-joke after revealing the occupation of her parents. The next was marked with the untidy scrawl of Neville and revealed itself to be ‘A Wizard’s Guide to Muggle Gardening’. The note read:  
**Dear Mione, I thought this might make you laugh and maybe we could go through it to find all the bits they got wrong. Who knows, one day we might write our own textbook? Nev x**  
That only left one package. There was no card but when she opened it she found a copy of ‘Lolita’ with a note tucked in the front cover: **Counting the days, Uncle Frank**. Revolted she threw the book away from her - _Was it supposed to be a threat?_ \- and hurried out of her four poster which somehow felt tainted even though her uncle must be hundreds of miles away. _How had he gotten it here? Had her parents helped him? Did they know about the book?_ The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she had over reacted. Lolita was a modern classic, perfectly normal reading material for someone academically inclined. No, it was best not to tell anyone, they wouldn’t believe her anyway, _you silly little girl_. Heading down to breakfast, resolved to handle things herself, her birthday hardly seemed like a day for celebration.

However, up in the third year boys room, the twins hurried Lee away, promising they would be down soon. He rolled his eyes at their sentimental tradition and ran on to catch Wood up to ask if he had finally given in to Flint (Lee’s place in the pool predicted the captains would get together before the end of the spring term so it was worth sowing some seeds now if he wanted a shot at the prize - up to 15 galleons now!). 

Alone in their room, the boys settled on their respective desks and began to write.  
**To my Soul,  
I think that I know you’re at Hogwarts now – you were certainly at the station. I can’t believe we touched and I didn’t notice you. For years I’ve imagined this dramatic reveal but I somehow feel like I’ve failed you. I keep searching down corridors but the fact that I missed you once makes me doubt my judgement. I’ve always worried that my words mean I’ll get in your way but this has all made me realise that maybe its about letting you take charge of your choices? Do you know who I am? I think I’ve built the whole thing up in my head but I’m actually glad it is happening slowly, we will have a lifetime so I don’t want to rush the start. That said I’m so bloody frustrated! I’ve been checking everyone who talks to me in case they say my words. When the time is right it will be just like magic – that’s what mum’s says. Anyway I’m sorry for going on so long I’m just so torn. I know this means you need us to happen slowly and I think I do too but heck, I really want to meet you. There I go again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! This year will be the best yet.  
All my love, George **

At the opposite desk, Fred was scribbling away.

 **Dear Soul,** (he had changed his greeting over the years) ****  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you have had a fantastic year and everything you wished for since Christmas has come true. Twelve is such a great year and if you’re starting school you’ll learn loads fun tricks, literally say the words and I’ll be there to help you out! It’s been kind of eventful on my end. George has touched his soulmate but we don’t know who it is (we’ve always joked that it might be you and if it is you must be going through the same stress he is so sorry!). I wonder if you are at Hogwarts – you’re definitely old enough now so unless you went abroad? I hope we find each other soon but until Christmas, your devoted pen pal (and undiscovered soulmate),  
Fred 

With the letters tucked away, the twins headed down to breakfast. Surreptitiously, they both glanced down the table to the cute brunette first year, but she looked so despondent it couldn’t possibly be her birthday. Concealing their disappointment from the other, each twin subtly moved her favorite breakfast items towards her, hoping to entice her to eat.

************************* 

September morphed into October and Hermione dedicated herself to her classes, Professor McGonagall had even written a missive back to her parents to commend her efforts. Their reply cemented her plan: _We’re so proud of you darling! The wonderful letter from your teacher made us sure we have made the right choice. We hope you are making lots of friends. Love, Mum and Dad._ She wasn’t sure that Neville counted as ‘lots’ but in her letters she exaggerated her closeness with her dorm mates and even mentioned an adventure with two housemates in rather euphemistic terms. Yes, to her parents it must seem that she was living a full and successful life. As it was, the only people who seemed to pay her much attention apart from Neville were Percy (who could always be relied upon for an academic chat) and the Weasley twins (who she would often catch staring absentmindedly in her direction as she stared back at them, this would continue until their eyes met and both parties returned to their work slightly flushed). 

On the twins part, neither had spoken of their interest in the sweet book worm and thought it would be received strangely if they suddenly befriended someone two years below them. George was working on a theory that his soulmate was a new Hufflepuff girl called Hannah. They had run into each other after a WMW venture involving stack loads of food had found them camped out by the kitchens. She had rounded the corner, seen them, dropped her book, and ambiguously declared ‘so it’s you!’ George had taken this as evidence for the soul bond but was confused at his lack of investment in her, Fred felt that the girl had probably just discovered who had been leaving crumbs all around the entrance to her common room. Days slipped into weeks and their secret obsession showed no signs of developing friends, she would often fall asleep by the fire, surrounded by books and ignored by her year-mates. Neville was with her more often than not having not found himself part of Harry and Ron’s brotherly dynamic and not wanting to constantly third wheel Dean and Seamus. Besides he liked Hermione, she was always interested in what he had to say and would help him out with homework without ever making him feel dumb. In turn, he would offer he insight into wizarding culture and gently hold her hand when the world seemed to get too much. On the evenings when his friend would snooze on the sofa, he watched with bemused gaze as one or other of the twins would come up and offer him a blanket for her, still anxious about crowding her after that first night. He saw how they took care of her from a far and wondered if they were even aware of how much time they spent caught up in her, Hermione was certainly oblivious.

On the last day of October, Hermione resolved to be more active in her pursuit of friends. Having done so well with the older Weasley boys, she decided that Ron was a sensible place to start. Charms seemed like the best place for it as Flitwick didn’t have a seating chart. Embarrassed, she had told Neville her plan and he had offered to get Harry to sit by him. So, a little nervously, Hermione slid into the empty chair. Ron gave her a small smile then returned to digging the nib of his quill into the wooden desk. Unsure what to do next, Hermione opened her mouth several times, but nothing ever came out. Just then Flitwick appeared upon his towering stack of books and began the class. Levitation Charms. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; this was something she could do without thinking. Once the theory was over, Flitwick distributed a feather to each student and set them to practice. Hermione held off a little, always nervous about showing off. She watched Ron resolutely swishing and flicking his wand with completely the wrong pronunciation. On his rounds around the room, the Charms professor tried to correct him, but Ron continued with the incorrect stress. Torn over her course of action, she remembered how she and Neville bonded over academics and how grateful he was whenever she helped him out. Glancing across the room she saw him giving her an encouraging thumbs up. Summoning all her Gryffindor courage, she began to talk.

‘You’re saying it wrong,’ she began, talking a little sharper than she intended. ‘Its Wing- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa, make the gar nice and long.’

‘You do it then, if you’re so clever,’ he snapped back. Gently she picked up her wand and performed the charm perfectly, hoping that Ron would believe her tips as he watched her feather soar towards the ceiling. Unfortunately, his mood only seemed to worsen. At the end of the class, he rushed off to catch up with the boys and as she wandered behind them, she heard his attack.

‘No-one can stand her. She’s a nightmare. Honestly, it’s no wonder he hadn’t got any friends.’ Tears blurred Hermione’s vision and as she tried to rush past them, she accidentally bumped Harry, further upsetting her by the unplanned contact. She vaguely heard Neville calling after her but ducked into the first set of girl’s toilets she passed. Locking herself in a stall, she ripped off her suffocating robe and jumper, throwing them on top of her bag, before closing the toilet lid and sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. All she could here were the taunts of her muggle peers, all she could think of was her parents promise that Frank would help out if Hogwarts was anything like primary. Her breath came faster and faster, each time she thought she had it under control a new wave would hit her. She didn’t know how long she sat curled there, probably hours. At one point some girls had come in but at the sound of her sobs they ran thinking that Moaning Myrtle was taking a holiday a floor above her usual haunt.

Eventually she cried herself to exhaustion and the cold started to set in. She pulled on her layers and unlocked the door but as she lifted her eyes she froze again. She blinked unable to believe her eyes but there in front of her, in the middle of the school, was a gigantic, stubby troll. Terrified she shot a glance at the door but to her dismay she saw it was locked. Unable to help herself, she screamed. This was the wrong thing to do. Up until now the dull-headed troll hadn’t really noticed her but the high-pitched noise certainly drew its attention. Brutally it swung its club at her head. She just managed to duck, but it took out the top half off all the wooden dividers. 

Suddenly she wasn’t alone anymore. Harry and Ron charged into the room, distracting the great brute for a second and allowing her to crawl under the sinks, hoping the china would offer greater protection or at least cover. Stupidly, the troll began stabbing at the sinks, shattering them one at a time in a horrendous countdown that looked like it would end with Hermione’s skull caved in. Then to her great surprise, Ron Weasley started yelling insults at the troll as he and Harry bombarded it with detritus.

‘Oi! Pea-brain!’ he taunted as Harry tried to get Hermione to run towards the door. But she was frozen. There just didn’t seem to be enough space to get past the troll when he kept turning on the spot, confused by the noise and swinging his great club around. Seeing her dilemma, Harry did something idiotic, climbing on the sink he managed to leap on to the back of the troll, griping its ears. This drove the monster into a rage as it flung its head about, attempting to free itself from the eleven-year-old limpet. In the struggle Harry ended up sticking his wand up its nose but this was the final straw. It’s large hands finally found purchase on Harry’s robes and he was ripped from its back to hang upside down. 

Hermione reached for her wand before realising that it was still in her school bag on the other side of the destroyed bathroom. Ron was their only hope but he was stood in apparent terror as his best friend faced the prospect of a concave face. 

‘Ron!’ she yelled, hoping the situation would have earned her his attention. Thankful he turned to look. ‘Swish and flick,’ she encouraged. Startled out of his freeze, Ron lifted his wand, focused clearly on Hermione’s instruction that afternoon and performed a perfect levitation charm. 

He released the club over the troll’s head, and it collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. The door burst open once again and this time a hoard of teachers flooded into the room. Hermione swallowed. _This is it then_.

‘What on earth were you thinking of?’ McGonagall began the interrogation. The two boys seemed to choke on their words, so Hermione took a deep breath and stood from where she was still hiding, brushing dust off her robes and preparing to do something that terrified her. She knew that the truth would sound ridiculous but lying brought a whole world of risks. If she didn’t get them out of the situation they would be expelled for sure, but if she was discovered lying, she (and she alone) would find herself with a one way ticket back to London and back into the hands of Uncle Frank. It was lose-lose but Hermione bravely resolved to stand up for her friends, after all, she knew Harry dreaded leaving Hogwarts as much as she did.

‘Please Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me,’ she began. Ten minutes later she found herself in the common room, still a student, only five points down, and waiting on the arrival of her two new friends.

It was a tentative friendship at first, Hermione being unsure how to fit into their dynamic. Observing from afar, Fred and George were pleased to see their little first year making some friends, especially with their brother. They teased Ron relentlessly but knew that there was no-one with a better heart than him. They saw how cautious Hermione was to integrate herself and took it upon themselves to help. When she took a pause from studying to stretch, her notes would find themselves scuttling closer to the two boys, making sure that the three armchairs by the fire were free for them if they could. Through their gentle efforts, they watched the friendship grow closer and when, at breakfast on Christmas day (Hermione, Harry and the Weasley’s all staying for the holidays), she gave Harry a quick hug, the twins hearts filled with warmth. They had given her what she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day!
> 
> Up next is the last part of first year. I'm whipping through these bits quite fast so we can actually get to the main relationships and the canon divergent stuff! Remember to bookmark so you know when the next update comes!
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think :) any favorite bits? fav characters?  
> Kudos is massively appreciated so if you are so inclined....
> 
> Ps, guests can leave kudos too fyi


	9. Tangible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk if I need to warn for this but there is a swear word in this chapter.
> 
> Zooming through first year for a big revelation!

To say June had been a stressful month for Hermione would have been an understatement. Even compared to keeping a secret dragon back in May (Draco was still confused about how he had come out as the bad guy in that situation. All he had seen was his soul mate’s best friend in hospital with a sever bite and tried to alert the authorities to prevent anyone else getting hurt!) and setting a teacher on fire in November. _No, June took the biscuit_ she thought as she sat fretting at the bedside of her two best friends. 

To begin with were the exams. She had started prepping at the end of March, spending many long nights sitting up with the boys or with Neville, trying to convince them that gob stones was not a suitable substitute for charms notes. Eventually she was wasting so much studying time by talking to them that she gave up. She tried to calm herself, Percy had assured her that only one student had failed their first year in the history of the Weasley family’s time at the school, but she was determined not to make it two. Every time she drifted off into a daydream, a loud noise or bumped shoulder would snap her back to herself, replacing pleasant daydreams with the bone-deep fear of returning to Frank. She had gotten much better at physical contact, although she still liked to be the one to initiate it and only with specific people, and her panic attacks came far less regularly. Still she couldn’t prevent her almost obsessive studying tendencies with the consequences of her failure ever-present in her mind. Many nights she woke around midnight to a nearly empty common room and a dying fire, with a blanket covering her and Neville sat on the floor by the sofa, silently guarding her. 

However the exams had come and gone, and Hermione was reasonable confident about her performance; but the rising suspicions they had had all year about the mysterious contents of the third floor had also come to a head. She had tried to insist on going to a teacher but they were dismissed - _why would no-one ever believe the truth?_ \- and so she, Harry, and Ron had ventured forth alone. Neville had confronted them, but Hermione, with a heavy heart and torn conscience, she had placed him under a full body bind curse. With the prospect of what they were to face and attacking her first friend, Hermione felt her vision narrowing but Harry, who was always sensitive to her changes, gently took her hand. Shaking herself, she gripped hard rationally laying out her reasoning. If Voldemort’s return wasn’t stopped, the Wizarding World may well collapse, at the very least there would be a war and Hogwarts would close and she would be sent back to the clutches of Uncle Frank. _You have to handle this_ she reminded herself as the door to Fluffy’s chamber clicked open.

The rest of the excursion had been a blur of one panic-stricken moment after another, when Ron had been violently struck from his marble horse it became clear that these challenges were life or death. When she and Harry had crept into Snape’s room, the unassuming sight of a scroll of parchment had made her laugh aloud. In control for the first time that evening, she had quickly solved the logic puzzle and watched with heart pounding as Harry had ventured on through the fire alone. She had allowed herself to count to thirty before turning to her task. It was almost as much work going back as it had been to enter. Her ankle felt broken from her fall through the Devil Snare and she had a profusely bleeding cut on her forehead from an errant piece of chess rubble. 

She found Ron where they had left him, her jumper tucked under his head. With a wry smile she used the Levitation Charm to float him in front of her as she scrambled her way through the passages. At the Devil Snare room she wanted to cry, only the thought of Harry alone against Voldemort relying on her to bring help gave her the will to continue. She let Ron rest, feeling the drain of her magic after such a prolonged incantation and stared up at the postcard of light that was her only way out.

Quick as she could she scanned through her mental catalogue of revision and was more thankful than ever that she had read so extensively for she could recall an obscure charm from Worple’s ‘Blood Brothers’ (recommended reading from ‘The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection’) that was used when the author had been trapped in an exitless tower by a vampire. Summoning every drop of magic within her, she waved her wand with two diagonal slashed and cried ‘ _Exstructos!_ ’

With a heavy clunk, the wall of the chamber pushed stones out until an even set of steps had full formed, rising away to the rest of the castle. Her head fell back in relief but her ankle protested and she still had no idea what to do about getting Ron out. She felt empty, drained in every sense of the word but her mind kept slipping to Harry. She had read about the first war and all she could envision was Harry’s prone form with a pair of blood red eyes advancing on him. Not knowing where she found the strength, she began to crawl up the steps, leaning on the wall to take pressure off her leg, and floating Ron along with more will power than magic it felt. 

Far away in the Gryffindor dorm Fred slumped against Lee, suddenly exhausted while George dropped the butter beer he had been holding. They felt as if their energy was being pulled away from them, or maybe through them, and four stories below, Hermione finally managed to emerge from the trapdoor. 

It had probably only been ten minutes since she had left Harry, but it felt like a lifetime. Ron still looked in a bad way, yet to regain consciousness and bleeding from several scrapes and abrasions. _The Owlery_ she reminded herself harshly, pushing off the wall and beginning the next section of her campaign. But she had only gone a few steps when the sound of racing footsteps reached her ears. Then Dumbledore was speeding around the corner and up towards them.

‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ the old man asked frantically. Surprised at this fortuitous turn of events, Hermione nodded mutely. At her silence, the Headmaster looked down at her and seemed genuinely alarmed at the sign of the blood-soaked girl who was standing of one leg and her unconscious compatriot. ‘Hospital wing for you two.’ And he took over the suspension of Ron (something Hemione was eternally grateful for) before speeding through the door to Fluffy’s domain. 

She wandered dazedly to Madam Pomfrey who let out a shocked gasp at the surprise and then settled down to repair the damage to her students, summoning McGonagall as she did so. Hermione had been diagnosed with a broken leg, blood loss, and a sever case of magical exhaustion. Luckily all that could be fixed with a charm, a replenishment potion, and rest. Ron was a bit more of a mystery – ‘head wounds always are’ -but the matron had concluded that the worst he would be suffering with was a mild concussion when he awoke but it was a guessing game as to when that would be. 

Professor McGonagall arrived an hour later having been delayed by Lee Jordan who was concerned after both his friends had suffered a spontaneous case of exhaustion. _Honestly_ she sighed, _fourteen-year-olds have a party at one in the morning and then are surprised they are tired_. Supervising children was an exasperating job. She had only been fussing over her two injured lions for five minutes, transfiguring them into clean robes, when Dumbledore arrived with Potter on a stretcher.

Harry was pale and clammy, his breathing shallow and irregular. He too had his share of scrapes but it was his scar that concerned the adults. It was glowing red again the boys white forehead, pulsating angrily as Harry tossed in his unconscious state.

‘So, it’s true then?’ whispered McGonagall. ‘He-who-must-not-be-named was here? Harry fought him?’

‘I believe what Harry fought was some kind of wraith, a shadow of the Dark Lord,’ Dumbledore began slowly as Harry was transferred to a hospital bed. ‘It was living in Quirrell it appears. I found a body. Harry seems to have performed quite extraordinary magic tonight and faced things I would never wish for him. Things that I fear are only the beginning.’

They all seemed to have forgotten about their conscious onlooker for Hermione was sitting in her own shadowy hospital bed, listening intently.

‘Albus you can’t mean…’ Madam Pomfrey trailed off.

‘Sadly I do Poppy. There are things that will pull Harry and Tom towards each other that are older than imagining and, while we will do everything in our power to delay the moment of reckoning, I am convinced that eventually Harry will have to face him alone.’ McGonagall and the matron gasped but over in her bed Hermione was silently promising herself that Dumbledore’s words would never come true, that she would never leave Harry to face his monsters alone for she knew how that felt.

When the sun rose and the staff disbanded to see to their duties in the rest of the school, Hermione tiptoed over to Harry’s bed and took his hand.

‘I’ll help you Harry, how ever I can. I’ll take him on in your place if I must,’ with her eyes shut she didn’t see the silvery bands circling their hands as she accidentally made a wizard’s promise. She didn’t need to, it was a vow she would keep to her last breath without any provocation.

So that was how she spent the morning, caught between the two boys she was coming to consider as brothers. Neville came by at lunch, bringing with him the wild gossip that was circulating the school. Surprisingly, most of it was true. When Ron woke up that afternoon, dazed but otherwise well, they were both sent back to Gryffindor tower with assurances that they would be told when Harry’s condition changed in any way. At least by then his scar had faded back to its usual tone and the fitful tossing had ceased.

When they exited the hospital wing, they almost walked straight into Draco Malfoy who was skulking just outside the door

‘What are you doing slouching about out here?’ asked Ron, accusingly.

‘I’m not slouching, I’m standing. Not that you’d know the difference Weasel,’ he retorted, while really trying to get a glimpse through the doors that they were currently holding open.

‘Well get out of here, unless you're actually injured,’ backed up Hermione, determined to prevent Harry’s nemesis getting more fodder to taunt him with.

‘I’ve got a papercut,’ Draco blurted out, naming the first injury he could think of then kicking himself for picking something so trivial.

‘Yeah, right. Leave Harry alone and get lost prat.’ Ron demanded, standing with his arms crossed and stepping forward so the door closed behind him. Knowing that there really was no other option with such a pathetic complaint, Draco stalked away worried about the well-being of his small soulmate.

On their walk back to the common room, eyes followed Ron and Hermione as whispers echoed in the old stone corridors. The pair seemed to be attracting a crowd as they moved along and the feeling of eyes on her started to make Hermione uncomfortable. A broad seventh year reached out and caught the edge of her sleeve as she passed.

‘Hey, little girl, is it true that you fought You-Know-Who?’ _you silly little girl_ He was too close, everyone was, the noise was reaching a fever pitch – could nobody else hear that? Then suddenly the older student was pushed back. Ron, who had always kept a gentle eye on Hermione, watching as Neville cleared the space around her whenever her breathing seemed to race, had shoved the boy away.

‘Hey! Don’t touch her. Dumbledore told you what happened now leave off.’ At his outburst the crowd seemed to dissipate, embarrassed by their behaviour and Ron felt his chest swell as Hermione tangled her fingers in his sleeve, just as Harry did. Gently he guided her back to the common room, glaring at anyone who even looked like they were considering asking a question, even his older brothers who had strode aggressively towards them as soon as they cleared the portrait hole. 

‘Later,’ he told them decisively as he brought Hermione over to Neville who was sketching quietly in a corner. When she saw who was in front of them, the tears started to fall.

‘Oh, Nev! I’m so (hiccup) sorry about (hiccup) last night.’ The rest of her apology was lost in Neville’s shoulder as he carefully pulled her into a hug. He didn’t need to hear it. If the rumours were true, and she and the other had prevented the return of Voldemort, he was more grateful than anything; the sight of her tearful face would have superseded any apology anyway – friends were there for each other.

***************************** 

The end of term came quickly for the twins. Ron and his friends had got themselves into some sort of dramatic adventure. When they first heard the rumours about giant chess pieces and militant plants they were outraged that their little brother hadn’t included them on the trip that was sure to be Hogwarts legend. But the next afternoon, when Ron had pulled a clearly exhausted and wrought Hermione through the portrait hole, all thought of jealousy had been banished as they strode over to check on their little… friend? That didn’t seem to quite right as they had never actually spoken a word to her. Hermione was the unspoken obsession between the two of them, an all-consuming concern and a constant background niggle depending on the amount of trouble she seemed to be getting in. Their silent fixation had only grown stronger and neither boy was really sure what to do it. George knew he had a soul mate somewhere in the castle and besides, she was their little brother’s best friend. So they kept their distance, quietly making sure her life was easier where they could. But the sight of her on the verge of collapse overwhelmed the strange distance they had maintained. 

When Ron had dismissed them they remained rooted to the spot and it took Lee physically turning them back to their notebook before they could break the pressing urge to go over. On his behalf, Lee just smirked. He had his own opinions on his best friends’ behaviour and, no matter how subtle they thought they were, he was sure that there was something more than attraction at play between those three. 

They spent the last week and a half of term perfecting their new ‘Roll-the-Rice’ (the name was still being workshopped) a comedy product that combined a tricky piece of transfiguration and a modified tactus charm to cause confetti rice to burst into different insects (predominantly butterflies and ladybirds, but occasionally spiders) when it contacted the celebratee. They had been working for months to find a way not to get it to react to the thrower’s hand but now it was ready for market. They were considering retiring WMW as in two years they had only had two successes but thought that it was a good-enough money spinner to string it out another year.

At the end of June, the three of them scampered aboard the scarlet steam engine and raced to get their favorite compartment. The first hour they whiled away with exploding snap then Fred went off to find some of their friends while Lee and George got a head start on their summer homework, deciding they’d get it done now and have the summer free. The compartment was hot and the rocking of the train very soporific so after lunch Lee nodded off over his charms essay. 

About an hour later, the door slid open and Fred shuffled inside. He seemed uncomfortable, running his hands through his hair, constantly shifting positions, his distracted gaze bouncing all over the compartment. When he reached over to skim through Lee’s unguarded textbook, George knew that something was seriously wrong.

‘Freddie?’ he ventured. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Hum? Oh yeah fine,’ but now he was folding pages down in an attempt at origami. George considered his twin and decided to let it be. Not a minute later, he was rewarded.

‘WewereallplayingagameanditwasmyturnandIkissedAngelina,’ Fred exploded. George blinked several times as if that would help make sense of the verbal assault. Seeing his twin’s incomprehension, Fred took a deep breath and expanded. ‘I was down with some of the other third years, then Tamsin Applebee, you know the Hufflepuff, suggested that we all play this stupid game; anyway I lost, and my dare was to kiss my favorite person in the room. Well, I didn’t know what to do and Angelina was there and we’re friends so I kissed her.’ Here he paused for breath and to examine George’s face. His eyes were a bit wide but he didn’t seem to be judgmental. He started picking at the tear in his jeans as he got to the crux of the issue. ‘And I know she’s not my soulmate but we get on and she’s pretty. We’re fourteen you know? But then I just feel so guilty, like my heart is actually racing when I think that I might have betrayed _her_ , whoever she is. What do you think?’

George placed a hand on his knee to stop him making the hole any bigger, and glanced over at Lee who was still drooling on his essay. 

‘Look Freddie, lots of people are with someone before their soulmate, it’s okay. You haven’t done anything wrong. As for the sick feeling, well, I don’t know about that. Mum always says that when you see you soulmate everything changes even if you don’t realise it so maybe you’ve seen them around somewhere?’ Fred seemed pacified at this response, enough to pick up a quill and start doodling in the text book, affecting an air of confidence.

‘Georgie, would you have done it?’ he asked as casually as possible.

‘That’s different Freddie. I’ve touched her, she’s real to me. You know, I think of her as an actual, tangible person who is just within my reach. I know that the soul bonds only really pair magic but I could never do anything to hurt her. I kinda think I love her even though I don’t know who she is. Until I find her, I just don’t think I could go near anyone else,’ he tailed off. He knew it was a bit sentimental, and perhaps a bit silly, to put his life on hold for someone he had only bumped into but he knew that he would wait forever to make sure that he was there the second she needed him.

‘Yeah,’ muttered Fred, ‘that’s kinda how I feel too. Shit! Do you think I might have ruined my friendship with Angelina?’ At this George actually laughed, breaking the tension.

‘Mate, Angelina is the chillest person I know. Besides, I think she and Alicia have a thing going on.’ With that they settled down to deface Lee’s textbook until they pulled into Kings Cross.

Disembarking they collected their trunks ahead of the rush and headed over to find their mother. Mrs Weasley was caught up with introductions to Harry so, instinctively, the twins looked around, seeking out the third member of the little trio. George’s investigations were halted when Ginny leapt into his arms, demanding an update on their colour changing chocolate scheme (their first foray into charmed food).

Fred, however, spotted Hermione struggling with her trunk (no doubt packed with books from Madam Pince who had adopted the girl as one of her favorites). Trying to be nonchalant, he wandered over to her, weaving between the hoards of reunited families.

Hermione was shaking. She hadn’t been home for the holidays and so it was the first time since September that she had faced the disorientating smoke and crowds. Worse than that, she had just spotted her parents on the platform and they weren’t alone. The tall figure of her uncle was stood proudly next to them surveying this new world. Their eyes met and she felt as if every piece of herself that she had fixed together that year was coming undone at the seams. Even at this distance she could _feel_ the smile that crept across his face. He pointed her out to her parents and she felt sick as they waved enthusiastically to her, encouraging her to come over. She decided to get a cart before the angle and weight of her trunk could get the best of her, and to delay the inevitable reunion; but, her trunk was heavier than normal and her tremoring didn’t help its mobility. Just as she was sure the wooden menace would crush her, she spotted a red head heading in her direction. 

‘Please could you give me a hand?’ she called out.

Fred stopped dead in his tracks. His forearm was tingling like mad and he was sure he knew why. His fingers were itching with the urge to pull up his sleeve and check but the trunk was about to fall right on top of her - _his soulmate?_. Her deep brown eyes were wide with the effort of balancing it as she attempted to get the trolley underneath. Fred leapt to her aid, heaving the trunk up and on to the metal cart. He watched as she pushed her curls out of her face, giving him a quick smile and a muttered ‘thanks’. Unable to resist, Fred looked down at his forearm. To his amazement, little squares and intricate circles were embellishing his words, reminding him of a medieval manuscript he had seen once in the restricted section. He looked up from the monochrome illustration with a grin but to his horror, she was already turning away from him, shoulders heaving as he had seen before. Not sure what to do, knowing that touching her might only make her panic worse.

‘Take care of yourself,’ he called after her as her delicate form was lost in the crowd. Hermione felt her heart stutter and she hesitated, wanting to look back. She knew those words, knew them in her soul. The first things she had ever read, the words that had saved her life. She yearned desperately to turn back and run into Fred’s arms but she couldn’t. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not with Frank watching on with his leering eyes. Not with Frank waving with the hands that had been stuffed inside her clothes, hands that pushed and pulled and violated. No. She couldn’t taint this moment with him.

So, she kept her head down and headed back to her parents, to the world that refused to protect her, leaving one of her soulmates thunderstruck in the steam of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Fred knows!!!
> 
> Next chapter: he tells George and they recruit Ginny to do some reconnaissance. Also, Hermione arrives at the Burrow :P
> 
> As always pls comment (i'll try to reply to everyone) and tell me what you think. Its a bit weird to just send it out into the ether so getting feedback and engagement is really encouraging x


	10. Seperated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning** Hermione returns to her Uncle and things progress, there are quite explicit scenes of assault and rape. As always it is marked by ****** **TW** ******* so please feel free to skip.
> 
>   
> There is happier stuff on either side of it though so please don't skip completely

Fred didn’t know what to do. Why was everyone just going on with their lives? Didn’t they know something _momentous_ had just happened? He kept staring between his mark and the space that Hermione had just vanished from. _Hermione_ Where had she gone? He’d let his clearly distraught soulmate just walk away from him. Spurred into action he headed after her, cursing a Ravenclaw who seemed determined to walk slower than he’d ever thought humanly possible. Finally, he navigated the crowds and caught a clear view of her but she was being engulfed in a hug by her parents and he could hear his own mother’s voice calling him.

Unsure what to do, Fred glanced down at the black mark on his arm. It seemed to mock him in its monochrome. A whole year he had somehow wasted, putting his concern down to the fact that she was one of his brother’s best friends, distancing himself as she already seemed overburdened. And now she was gone for a whole summer. _No, not a whole summer_ Fred promised himself. He would just have to start on Ron and get him to invite her to stay – it would probably be a bit weird if she got a letter asking her to stay from a boy she had only spoken to one.

‘Oh there you are Fred dear,’ said Molly bustling up.

‘I’m not Fred, I’m George,’ he replied reflexively, still staring after the disappearing Granger family.

‘Hey-oh Forge,’ the real George greeted his twin, slinging his arm over his shoulder. Noting Fred’s preoccupied gaze, he leant in and whispered. ‘Everything okay Freddie?’ Not wanting to reveal that he had found his soul mate in front of his whole family he just pulled his brother close.

‘Later.’ Accepting this with a curious shrug, the twins tailed the rest of their family towards the floo connection (Arthur was ‘enhancing’ the Ford Anglia that year).

When they were safely in the privacy of their bedroom Fred recounted the life-changing events of the station.

‘And then she just disappeared when you lot showed up!’ he concluded looking down at George who had stayed on the bed while Fred paced.

‘Bloody hell! Hermione?’ said George, trying to keep the hint of jealousy from his voice. It wasn’t just that Fred had found his soulmate in the girl that George had watched all year, but that his brother conclusively knew who she was; but his happiness overwhelmed his other emotions and he grinned broadly. ‘This is brilliant.’

‘Is it?’ Fred asked, slumping on the bed. George raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Not that is Hermione – that bit is fantastic. But I find out just as we leave for the summer. The only thing I can think to do is try and get Ron to write her?’

‘Yeah, that’s a good start. I suppose we don’t really know that much about her.’ In each of their heads, the twins reviewed their knowledge of the young brunette. The could list copious details about her favorite breakfast, her favorite quill, study nook, subject, what she needed when she was scared and what she needed to laugh. But neither could pull up any facts about her home life or anything before Hogwarts at all. ‘We’ll have to start some reconnaissance.’

The first month of the summer passed in a flash. Fred and George used every opportunity they could to mine for information about Hermione. When Bill visited for two weeks, they tried to use him to learn more.

‘Have you told Bill about Hermione yet, Ron?’ George called nonchalantly across the dinner table. Ron’s muffled affirmative response was consumed by a mouthful of mash potato.

‘Have you told him what her parents do? She’s muggle-born’ Fred added to Bill who was next to him, but loud enough that his father would hear.

‘Dentists,’ said Ron, having finally swallowed.

‘Oh really,’ came Bill’s, largely bored, response; but the twins were thrilled and added it to their mental files.

‘Muggle-born you say?’ Arthur called in an excited voice. ‘Tell me, has she told you much about their primary school? Fascinating things I hear, spend all day doing things like colouring.’ Both twins snorted at that. The image of Hermione stuck in a classroom _colouring_ when there were books to be read was ludicrous. 

‘I dunno,’ was Ron’s infuriating response as he turned back to his Quidditch conversation with Charlie. Luckily Mrs Weasley stepped in.

‘Honestly Ron, you’d think you know a bit more about your best friend’s life,’ she scolded. The twins settled back, prepared to let their father’s curiosity and their mother’s sense of manners to the bulk of the hard work. But, as it turned out, Ron was next to useless. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Hermione, quite the opposite, but whenever he had brought up their lives before school Harry and Hermione both clammed up. He figured they would tell him when they were ready and all he would do in the meantime was be the best friend to them he could.

All the twins' other attempts to get Ron to reveal details were similarly vague. When flying they would try to ask offhandedly if Hermione liked to fly (she didn’t). When heading over to the village nonchalantly ask what part of the country his two best friends lived in (Hampstead and Surrey). But these brief and relayed facts were doing nothing to sooth the mounting desperation that both boys were feeling. They knew that their little brother was sending and receiving regular letters from the girl so they tried not to be too concerned; in fact it was clearly Harry who was in trouble as he had yet to reply to any of Ron’s letters.

Still, their lack of communication irked the twins, both experiencing the inarticulable sense that something was _wrong_. On an afternoon in mid-July they decided to take drastic measures and steal Ron’s letters. They knew it was an invasion but they just needed to see her hand writing, see that she was okay in her own words.

Ginny, who had been observing her brother’s shrewdly, was most surprised when they turned down the chance to go over to the muggle village. They had maintained Lee’s habit of slight of hand tricks and regularly made some extra change by performing on the village green. Her suspicions had also been aroused by the sight of Fred’s right arm. He had managed to keep it covered for most of the summer but she had caught a glimpse of the illustrated text and inferred the cause of her brothers’ odd behavior. Fred had spoken to his soulmate, and with the strange fixation with quizzing Ron this summer, she had a pretty good idea who it must be. With all this in mind, she too decided to remain at the Burrow while the rest of her siblings made the excursion. 

As soon as they had disappeared over the hill, the twins excused themselves to their room. Ginny waited a minute then followed, cursing the creaking stairs as she went. Stopping in at their bedroom, she pressed her ear against the door. Nothing. It wasn’t like the boys to be this quiet so she continued seeking them in the upper floors. At the very top of the house she paused, peaking round the corner of the winding stairs she saw Fred standing over George, who was crouched, fiddling with the lock. Both Ginny and Ron had learnt the hard way to lock their rooms with the twins out for experimental subjects for their pranks.

A click broke the silence and the door swung open.

‘Those muggles don’t half know their stuff,’ whispered a triumphant George as he tucked the locking picking set back into his pocket.

‘Yeah, yeah, just hurry up.’ Ginny watched them enter the room and could hear a strange shuffling. Were they messing with the bed? She crept closer. Standing in the doorway she had to stifle a laugh. Both boys were bent over, a pile of letters spread on the floor between them.

‘Got one,’ declared Fred setting it on the bed.

‘None over here, these are all from Aunt Muriel – why does he even keep them?’ replied a disgusted George as he sorted through his own stack.

‘ _Boys!_ ’ exclaimed Ginny in her best impression of her mother. Both twins dropped the letters they were holding and turned to face her with guilt-ridden expressions. Seeing their remorse Ginny cackled.

‘Find any from Hermione yet?’ she asked gleefully.

‘What?’ said George.

‘How did you know?’ was Fred’s response. Ginny rolled her eyes at her brothers.

‘You’re not exactly subtle and you just confirmed it. So she’s your soulmate?’ she enquired of Fred, who nodded with a shy smile. ‘Why don’t you just write to her yourself?’

‘I would Gin,’ started Fred, ‘it’s just the more we talked about it, the stranger it seemed. I’ve literally only spoken about five words to her and she ran away from me afterwards.’

‘She’s muggle-born so the whole soulmate thing might not make that much sense to her and we’re two years older,’ George interjected.

‘I just don’t really know her yet, and I don’t want to scare her,’ concluded Fred a bit mournfully.

‘Honestly, just get Ron to invite her to stay.’

‘Don’t you think we’ve tried?’ they exclaimed together. And indeed they had tried to suggest that very thing with lessening degrees of subtlety but Ron had always brushed them off, preoccupied with his own concerns over Harry’s continued silence.

‘Fine,’ sighed Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ll do it myself. Just make sure you put all the letters back properly.’

That night after dinner, Ginny wrapped herself in a blanket and headed to her youngest brother’s room. She knocked and focused on making herself look as vulnerable as possible; when he opened his door, she was biting her lip.

‘Hey Gin,’ he said softly, a little surprised.

‘Could I, could I come in and talk?’ she murmured.

‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’ He ushered her inside his orange bedroom, a little at a loss (as she had never come to him like this before) but also quite excited.

‘I was wondering if you could tell me about starting Hogwarts?’ she implored, curling up against his pillow as he sat beside her. ‘I’ve been getting really nervous about making friends, about being by myself….’

‘Oh Gin,’ he pulled her into a hug and began to tell her about his own concerns last year but how friends had come easily once you got involved in Hogwarts life. They were now reaching the crux of the conversation and Ginny began to tread carefully.

‘Do you think its different as a girl?’ here Ron was flummoxed, he didn’t know what big brotherly advice he could give her. 

‘Um, I don’t really know. I mean, Hermione is one of my best friends, we do everything together so it can’t be that different.’

‘But what about at the start? She wasn’t friends with you then? How did she start as a girl?’ as a staunch feminist even at this age, it bothered Ginny to pretend that being a girl would make the transition any harder but she wished her eyes to fill with tears as she looked up at Ron. He felt his heart breaking. Ginny was in his room crying, asking for help, for the first time ever, and he didn’t know what to tell her. Scrabbling for a solution, he spoke.

‘Look, maybe I could ask Hermione to stay for the summer? I’ve missed her loads and she might be able to help answer your questions. Besides this way you would have a girl friend before you even start school.’ Ginny’s smile was radiant. ‘I’ll write first thing tomorrow.’ With a plan in place, Ginny kissed his cheek and headed off to tell the twins.

She knocked on their door and heard the hurried movements of concealment before one of them told her to come in. She stuck her head round the door, surprised by the amount of smoke in the room.

‘He’s inviting her tomorrow,’ she informed them in a sing song voice before retreating to her bed with a night’s work well done.

******** **TW** ******** **TW** ********** 

Ron’s letter reached Hermione due to Errol’s erratic delivery in the last week of July and she almost cried at the invitation: _just reply with a date and Mum will apparate over to pick you up_. Neville’s grandmother had removed his owling privileges at the start of the summer for breaking a family heirloom, and Harry hadn’t been replying to her letters, so Ron had been her only foothold in the magical world. 

The holidays had started innocuously enough with her parents taking a week off work to reconnect. She had told them the rough outline of her year, excluding the confrontation with an evil sorcerer, and swelled under their praise of her exam results. That week they had felt more like a family than they had in years. 

But she knew it was too good to last and soon the demands of the practice began again, and Hermione found herself back with Uncle Frank. Almost every afternoon she was with him now, but something had seemed to change. He took her out for treats, trips to the museum, the aquarium, brought her books on anything that caught her eye. With each purchase she worried about her ‘debt’ but he had tried to do nothing more than hold her hand or soothe her hair. The first month of summer had passed in this cautiously innocent manner, but then the conferences began, and her parent’s expertise was requested abroad.

First it was only a weekend but as soon as the constraints of publicity and daylight had faded, Hermione found his hands wandering again. She was sent up to bed and waited, praying things would be different this year. Her heart rate soared as the heavy creak of the stairs became louder. Then the unmistakable click as light flooded in. She knew he could see she was awake as he carefully closed the door behind him and advanced towards the bed.

‘I’ve come to say goodnight, my heart,’ he whispered gently.

‘Don’t call me that. Get out.’ She demanded, emboldened by her experiences that year, but her voice came out much quieter than planned as her throat closed with nerves.

‘Now, now,’ he grounded out, catching her legs as she tried to wiggle to the other side of the bed. ‘We talked about this. You know how important it is to keep secrets.’

‘This isn’t like my other secret. Everyone knows about magic now.’ His grip was tight and he was pulling her towards him.

‘Hermione,’ he sighed, leaning over her, trapping her with his body weight. ‘It’s been years Hermione, years you participated, let me touch you, wanted me. This is all because of you, if you tell anyone they will see that.’ His voice wasn’t soft at all now, it pushed into her like his hands. He pulled back the covers and pushed his hand under her shirt. She whimpered. ‘See you like it, it makes you feel good.’ But it didn’t, it made her feel like she wanted to peel her skin off. ‘Just think of what would happen to your parents if you told. They’d be so disappointed in you. So unhappy. Do you like to make other people happy don’t you?’ Hermione didn’t know. Why couldn’t she think when his nails were pressing into her chest? Her breath was coming faster. How could she get him off her? Tentatively she nodded, she wanted her parents to be happy. Instantly she knew this had been the wrong choice for a grin spread across Frank’s face and one hand wound its way into his trousers. ‘See you aren’t saying no, you want this. You want to make me happy.’ 

The next few minutes were lost to Hermione as she tried to count the cracks in her ceiling, ignoring her uncle as he groaned beside her in the dark. Suddenly his hand that groped at her body took her hand, forcing it into his trousers. She felt something hard and slick, immediately pulling her hand back in disgust. But his grip was tight around her wrist, fingers digging into her skin as they wrapped all the way around. He forced her hand to remain in the heat of his underwear as he thrust against her. The tears were falling thickly now and she felt sick to her stomach. He let out a guttural moan and suddenly her hand was slick and warm, Frank lifted it to his mouth and licked her fingers. ‘You did that to me Hermione,’ and she knew she had, knew she could never tell because now she was complicit, now she had helped him.

Lying in the dark, hand still sticky, afraid to venture out to wash it, Hermione sobbed. She though of Fred and his bright blues eyes, thought of her unknown soulmate, both unknowing that they were bound by destiny to such tainted goods. She though of writing to Fred, of telling him everything, but they’d only spoken five words. And she knew because she counted, she’d treasured every syllable that marked her wrist. Treasured the memory of the breathless way he had said it. Clung to the fireworks that jumped about on her wrist and to the steady blue of the other.

When her parents picked her up, Uncle Frank explained away her bruised wrist by claiming she had almost run into a car and that he’d had to grab her. Hermione wished it was true. And so July progressed, she spent the weekends with her uncle and their crimes. He regularly came, as now she knew that was what it was, over her hand, sometimes licking it clean, sometimes smearing it on her body. Always leaving her alone in the dark with her shame. She did this to him, he reminded her every time.

As soon as she had read Ron’s letter, she called her parents at the office. His untidy scrawl, casual invitation and concern for his sister leaving her beaming. Of course, the Burrow promised Fred too, and, despite her fears of pollution, nothing could stop her from escaping Frank a month earlier than expected. Pleased to indulge her breathless plea, her parents agreed for her to spend the rest of the summer at the Weasley’s, so she wrote a hurried response asking to be collected two days later, on the 30th, praying that the owl would deliver the letter in time.

Sad to be sending their daughter away a month earlier than expected but wanting her to spend the summer with her friends rather than stuck always talking about books with Uncle Frank, the Granger's arranged a surprised send off dinner on the night of her departure. It was a late evening of good food and plenty of wine for the adults. Frank had stayed far away from her, allowing Hermione to chat to other family friends, and she went to bed in good spirits. 

But her even her own house was not a sanctuary and when Frank, far too drunk to drive, had been persuaded to stay, he had crept into her room as usual. With her eyes closed and the smell of home all around her, Hermione assumed that the opening of her door was just her parents checking on her one last time before school. When her covers were lifted and her bed depressed, she knew it was something else. 

Frank’s hand went over her mouth at once, pressing down hard so she could feel the shape of every tooth against her lips. It covered her nose, making it hard to breath. The other hand scrabbled at her clothes, pulling them away from her where he could. His breath was hot against her skin as he started sloppily kissing her chest. Hermione writhed under him, trying to bite his hand. It lifter from her body, but it was a brief reprieve as he struck her hard from the right, fist colliding with her temple and making stars appear in the darkness – they had never been less magical.

‘Why do you make me do this, Hermione?’ he slurred against her skin. ‘Why don’t you let me make it good for you?’ His hands were pulling her chest in what he thought was an exciting way, but his fingers were too large and felt cold and disconnected, grabbing painfully at her flesh. Frustrated at her lack of response, his hand dove between her legs, brutally forcing it's way in, making her struggle and scream behind his hand. ‘That’s it,’ Frank crooned. Pinning her in place, he crawled on top of her small frame, still obstructing her airway and reveling at her movement, he removed the hand and forced his way bluntly inside.

In the morning, it seemed like a sick dream. It couldn’t have happened. She couldn’t even give it words although it felt like it might tear its way out of her. No, not tear. It had already done that. She had silently bundled her sheets into wash before her parents were awake that morning, praying that the blood would come out. Hermione sat, leaning against the thundering washing machine, staring at her wrists. They had changed. The symbols she had relied on all her life had changed and with their reassurance she knew the future could too. Her skin was bruised from Frank’s unrelenting touch, the inside of her lip was bleeding and the pain between her legs seemed to grow the more she moved around. _No,_ she thought fiercely, _this will not be my future_.

******** **TW** ******** **TW** ********** 

When Mrs Weasley appeared at ten o’clock she found Hermione in a slight state of disarray but stood confidently by her trunk at the front steps. With a motherly smile, she offered the girl her arm and explained the sensation of side-along apparition. With a small pop and a horrid sucking sensation the Hampstead street disappeared and the Burrow lay before their eyes. Hermione was instantly sick. It wasn’t the travel per say, it was the compression, the sense of something large than you holding you down and pulling you the way they wanted. It was the sensation of last night.

Inside, Fred and George had been anxiously pressed up against the window since the second their mother had vanished, much to Ginny’s amusement and Ron’s bemusement. At the tell-tale crack, both twins practically sprinted to the door. This was Fred’s first knowing encounter with his soulmate, there was no way George was going to miss that. Once outside he laughed as his brother tried to contain himself to a casual walk but he was bouncing by the time Hermione stood in front of them. Mrs Weasley had her arm around Hermione and a warning look in her eyes. The girl herself looked to have tears in her eyes and as Fred moved forwards to hug her, she recoiled, pressing against Mrs Weasley’s side. Not wanting to push, Fred converted his move into an awkward wave and a simple ‘hi’. He got a small smile back and could see the patterns on his forearm tracing themselves quicker than usual, he longed to see them coloured but nothing was worth destressing Hermione. George gave her a kind smile.

‘You made it,’ he said in welcome, taking in the endearing curls that fell across her face and resisting the urge to move them aside, instead ushering the party towards the Burrow. She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up at him with amazed eyes, a bit confused at her response – it was only a house? – George led the way indoors.

Hermione watch him leave and furtively checked her right wrist. Sure enough, the blue script was changing in front of her eyes as a small willow tree appeared, its fronds waving gently in the wind. She looked from the retreating figure of George to the encouraging eyes of Fred, she had found both her soulmates. Change was coming and she followed them into the Burrow, each step a little more confident than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear I was writing in Hermione’s guilt internalised perspective. Children are in no way complicit in the crimes of their abusers and should never be made to feel that way.
> 
> They won’t get together immediately as Hermione needs time to process everything and she is only twelve, it is about more of an evolution of a friendship and support system for the next section.
> 
> Up next - summer at the Burrow, Harry's rescue, and possibly back to Hogwarts
> 
> I know this was rough but please let me know what you thought of the cheerier section too. First big scene of Ginny, what did you think?
> 
> I’ve had a complete confidence crisis with this chapter and think its utter crap so please do me a favour and reassure me it was okay??  
> Also dyslexia is kicking my butt rn so if things are wrong do lmk


	11. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to recap, at the beginning of the chapter this is the state of the marks.  
> George - coloured gold (has been touched), no image (not said)  
> Fred - not coloured (no touch), manuscript pattern (said)  
> Hermione - (g) coloured cobalt (touched), willow tree (said)  
> (f) not coloured (not touched), fireworks (said)
> 
> Also I want to give a shout out to Stille_und_regen who had commented on every single chapter! Really grateful for every comment and will always try to reply x

Inside the Burrow, Hermione found every dream she had had about magical life fulfilled. Needles were knitting independently in a corner, peas were shelling themselves over the sink, even a duster was dancing over the mantel piece unsupported. She found Ron waiting by the table and a girl who was introduced as Ginny. She waved at the girl and pulled Ron into a brief hug, but after only a second the pressure of his body against hers was too much and she pulled away. With every move she felt Fred’s eyes on her, the intensity a little alarming. Hermione knew she would have to talk to him, to both of them, at some point but as she turned to offer him a small smile, the pain between her legs stabbed at her and she knew she couldn’t. 

Last night had changed her, and all the confidence that had filled her as she sat alone by the washer vanished at the prospect of someone else who would want to touch her, hold her, use their hold to pin her down and keep a secret. But she had done it, just like Frank said, she had kept the secret and now she was as guilt and twisted as him. No, she couldn’t touch the twins, what if she twisted them like her uncle had done to her? What if they wanted that and their touch caused pain too?

Fred pulled out a chair for her at the table and she shrank away from the contact; he left a hand on the back of the chair so she sat as close to the edge as possible. _Soulmates_ a voice implored her but it wasn’t enough to overcome the sickening sensation as she felt the heat of another person’s breath against her skin. _He can’t touch me_ she vowed but she didn’t know who she meant, Fred, George,… Frank? She knew a soulmate shouldn’t hurt her, but then neither should family, a coldly rational voice replied. _Is that what they would want?_ she panicked, the closeness of the bodies standing around her bringing her breath faster. She felt the tears start to build and looked desperately around for a way out, with each second she felt the phantom hands on her body pressing harder, reaching lower.

Ron was worried. Something was different about Hermione. Her smile didn’t come as quickly as normal, only a small quirk of the mouth that didn’t reach her eyes. He always let her initiate contact, but she had practically jumped out of the hug the second it had started, and her eyes seemed to be brighter than normal. He could see her twisting her fingers in her lap and the tension that rung out from her body. He’d been so concerned with the absence of Harry’s letters that he hadn’t really considered the contents of Hermione’s. Reassessing them in his head, he realised they were full of superficial detail, what she had been reading, topics she was excited for in class, information about an exhibition she had been to, but nothing about how she was feeling, how it was to spend time with her family, no details on how she spent the majority of her days. And there had been a stiltedness to her letters that felt at odds with Hermione’s usually eloquent style. Her breath was coming fast now and he knew she wanted to get out of the kitchen.

‘Hey, ‘Mione, do you fancy a tour of the place?’ he had started using Neville’s nickname for her at the end of last year and hearing the familiar moniker now she positively beamed at him. No-one at home used a nickname for her, they were part of the magical world, a sign that she had moved away from her muggle life. As they left the kitchen side by side, Ron felt her fingers against his wrist for a second before they pulled away and cursed himself for not having long sleeves, the physical tether had always seemed so calming for both his best friends, and made a note to wear one tomorrow.

Fred watched as Ginny trailed the two of them out of the kitchen, then caught George’s eye indicating that he wanted to talk. Together they slipped into the shrubbery. 

‘She seems scared of me,’ Fred whispered frantically as soon as they were out of their mother’s ear shot.

‘Freddie,’ his twin reassured him, ‘look she’s always been shy and she’s just apparated for the first time and now is face to face with her soulmate, she bound to be a little nervous.’ Fred nodded then froze.

‘Merlin’s balls. I’ve just thought. Maybe she doesn’t know its me. Maybe she thinks I’ve just been staring at her like some sort of psychopath!’

‘ah.’

‘That’s your advice? Bloody ‘ah’!’ 

‘Yeah well I case you hadn’t noticed I don’t exactly have experience with this. I don’t know who my soulmate is for Merlin’s sake,’ George shot back, a little hurt.

‘Sorry, I forgot – no wait. This is perfect. If your soulmate knew who you were, how would you want them to approach you?’

‘With a diamond ring on the back of a dragon,’ George joked but at Fred’s eye roll he considered the question properly. ‘Well, I suppose really I’d want to get to know them, not keep it a secret or anything, but if you don’t know at the big reveal then someone just walking up to me and declaring themselves my soulmate as a done deal wouldn’t be romantic, just pushy and weird. If I didn’t really know them before I’d want to be friends, not just jumping in ten million miles an hour because magic says so. Soul mates are for life not for the reveal.’ Fred sighed at his brother’s well-reasoned advice, feeling a little guilt for complaining when his soulmate was so close to him and George was still in the dark. He could hear how much his brother long for his soulmate as he described their future relationship.

‘Right, right,’ Fred sighed. ‘Its just, I feel so …protective of Hermione. In there, when she looked like she might cry, I wanted to hug her or rip the walls down or something.’

‘Bit violent,’ George snorted, ‘but I get it.’ Silently acknowledging that he had felt the same way. ‘You know, you can still protect and care for her as a friend, just look at Ron.’

‘Yeah Ronald, she’ll touch him,’ Fred sulked.

‘I don’t think its about you, mate.’ Thinking of the careful way she had avoided touching Ginny. ‘She’s known him for a year, just let things go at their own pace. Here, you could start to be friends with her by giving her a tour, you know Ron will only do the boring bits.’

So they set off to find the others, Fred still lamenting the uniform blackness of the script on his wrist that awaited a touch and thinking how much easier it was for his twin to be rational when it wasn’t his soulmate who was just out of reach.

The two girls were getting on well, the younger girl’s relaxed nature and intelligence putting Hermione at ease and when Ron, slightly embarrassedly told her that the Burrow was a bit small and that the girls would share a room, she had genuinely smiled. 

It was during dinner when a sleek eagle owl rapped sharply on the window and Percy retrieve a letter addressed to his father. He passed it over and Arthur skimmed it.

‘Blimmey, it’s from Perkins, he’s on the night shift today,’ he informed them. ‘Apparently Harry’s been given an official warning by the improper use of magic office.’

‘Harry Potter?!’ Ginny squeaked. Harry was a bit of a hero to her, after all the youngest seeker in a century must be a phenomenal quidditch player and she was dying to watch him play.

‘How many other Harry’s do we know?’ teased George, fully aware of her idolisation having been asked to recount each and every quidditch match (and practice!) move by move.

‘Is he alright? He still hasn’t replied to either of us,’ said Ron, sharing an a look with Hermione. Having heard nothing all summer and now a government warning, he was naturally anxious.

‘Yes, he should be,’ but his father sounded uncertain. ‘You know what, I might just pop back to the office, speak to Mafalda and make sure there is nothing serious wrong.’ With that he kissed Molly, ruffled Ginny’s hair, collected his briefcase and disappeared out into the dusk.

The rest of the evening was largely uneventful and soon all the children were in bed. Hermione lay awake, flat on her back and staring up at the pink ceiling, thinking over the day. So much was different since this time yesterday. As they had changed into their pyjamas, Hermione had chosen to wriggle around under the covers to prevent Ginny seeing any bruises; but now, with the girl gentle snoring across the room, she began to test her flesh, gently poking at her abrasions to establish their location. Her chest was bruised and her shoulders from where he had pinned her down. Luckily her extremities were unmarked but Hermione could tell without touching that her thighs must be almost black. She imagined that the contusions would resemble handprints as he had violently pulled her legs apart, she wished all his touches would fade with the bruises. Inventory completes she tried to sleep but every time she closed her eyes she could feel his hand across her face. _Had it really been yesterday?_ She tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but each move only reminded her of how trapped she was under the covers.

Then, unmistakeable in the darkness, she heard the creak of the stairs, the slow whine that always preceded the sliver of light and the suffocating, violating hands. Out on the stairs, a weary Arthur making his way up to bed, having confirmed that Harry was in no serious trouble, had no idea of the terror that his steady climbing was causing the small girl inside. For Hermione was spiralling, the continued creaking driving away any illusion of safety this new bedroom could bring for her as each carefully constructed piece of her façade finally came flying off and she was left, shuddering with a phantom weight driving the breath from her chest and imagined hands that traced the reality of the night before.

Not wanting to alert Ginny and unable to stay still or quiet, Hermione crept to the door and waited until the footsteps had faded, before heading downstairs. The kitchen was good. _Nothing like home_ , she thought as she paced, gripping tightly around her stomach as if by holding herself she could keep herself together, keep what ever part Frank had taken. When it no longer felt like she would disappear if she didn’t keep moving, Hermione forced herself to look at her surroundings, to take in all the magical details and prove that she was in a different world. Stars that were real and far away, a world that would give her space. Control came and went but eventually all that remained of her terror was the occasional sob. She knew she couldn’t go back to bed so she curled up on the sofa opposite the window and pulled Percy’s copy of ‘Numerology and Grammatical’ towards her. Suddenly she was very cold in just her pyjamas so pulled a discarded jumper towards her. It was one of Mrs Weasley’s hand knitted sweaters and as she pulled it on she was surrounded by the scent of Fred. Her _soulmate_. The sobs overtook her again, causing her to hyperventilate as she considered how unfair this was on him, and George. To be saddled with a soul mate who was so polluted, who couldn’t even bear to be touched, she could never let them love her even if they wanted to.

George had woken with a disturbed feeling and a dry throat, so he headed down to the kitchen, careful to step at the very edge of the steps by Ginny’s room so as not to disturb the girls with the creaks. When he got to the kitchen and had filled a glass he stood in the silence of the night and sipped it. But it wasn’t silence. He became aware of an unsteady gasping and followed the sound, point a small figure curled up in a knitted jumper with a book that nearly swapped her on her lap.

‘Hermione?’ he asked softly, venturing closer. His shadow fell across her face as she wiped at her face tried to compose herself.

‘You’re in my light,’ she joked, closing the book and trying to sound as normal as possible. But her voice was false and hollow, and looking up into his concerned eyes she dissolved into tears again. _You’re in my light_ it echoed around his head and George thought he’d never been as alive as he felt in that second. Suddenly images were bombarding his brain. The Hogwarts Express. The steam. A little girl who had come out of nowhere. Big brown eyes looking up at him tearfully from the floor. A tingling collarbone. _Bloody Hell, its Hermione!_ The girl he had crashed into on the platform, the girl who he had been drawn to all year, the girl he already felt a little in love with, she was his soulmate. The girl who was curled in front of him wracked with sobs he suddenly realised. His delayed revelations could wait.

Quietly he sat down next to her and was devastated as he saw her recoil into herself.

‘Hermione? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?’ Everything in him was calling out to fix this, to make it better. She didn’t say anything but looked up with eyes that broke his heart and shook her head, fighting for every steady breath. Unable to sit still, George extending his hand as gently as he could to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

‘Don’t,’ she expelled, just before he made contact, the rhythm lost leaving her gulping between shudders as she forced out her words: ‘Please… don’t touch me.’ Torn up at her distress, George pulled his hand back. He had to clench his fist in his pyjama trousers not to reach out and caress her face, try to sooth this away. Unsure if he was making it worse with his presence, he made to shuffle away from her. ‘No,’ she cried and a hand came away from her waist and caught the fabric of his shirt. Although she could feel the heat of his skin, she somehow found the contact comforting and, despite the voice in her head telling her to let him go, nothing in the world could have made her release him (and George would have fought anything that tried to part them). 

Relieved by the knowledge that he was not totally unwanted but still desperate to help, George offered her his half drunk glass of water. She took it after a second and he found a little victory that she felt secure enough to release herself. Hermione didn’t drink it but clutched the cool glass to her neck, pressed it against her face and allowed the two points of external contact to help guide her back to reality.

‘Would it help if I talked?’ George’s soft voice washed over her, a little husky and thick with emotion. She shut her eyes tightly, allowing nothing to exist within her head apart from the coolness of the glass and the stiches she could feel in the fabric she held. She nodded.

George let out a steady breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding and cast about for a topic. In the end he decided to tell her about a problem he and Fred were having with the development with one of the pranks. It had all started after their mission for Brunt with the indoor thunderstorm and now they were trying to develop a way of jarring weather elements so they could be released by the user for the utmost havoc. However, they were having trouble maintaining the weather for its stay in the jar. As George talked, he watched Hermione gradually relax and, to his slight disappointment, release him along with most of her tension. He was just explaining that he thought the next thing to try would be to coat the jars in a stasis potion when her small, cracked voice interrupted.

‘It needs to start in the jar,’ George paused in his narration, unsure if she had actually spoken. ‘Its not charms or potions but transfiguration. A bit of water, a spark, something that is the essence of the weather needs to start in the jar then transfigure the lid so when it opens a an engorgement and transfiguration spell are released.’ She opened her eyes. ‘I don’t know which one,’ she apologised, ‘but it should work better than potions.’ Hermione wiped at her face, a little embarrassed in front of her soulmate, afraid he would think she was foolish but a quick glance at his face reassured her for he was looking at her as if she had announced how to make the philosopher’s stone, not just made a suggestion.

‘That bloody brilliant,’ how could she have solved in five minutes what he and Fred had been working on for nearly a year?! She gave him a small smile and, for the first time since she arrived, it looked genuine. They sat in silence for a little while, George delighting in the evenness of her breath and finally giving himself time to consider the fact that he was sitting with his _soulmate_.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, far more serious than usual, a small furrow between his brows. He knew she had panic attacks, had witnesses them before, but never given serious thought as to what caused them rather than just taking care of her in the moment

‘I’m okay,’ came her shy reply. ‘And I’m sorry. I just… I don’t like people touching me.’ _But why?_ George’s mind demanded of him but he repressed that voice. He considered his position. Did she know he was her soulmate? Did he know Fred was? _She must know about me_ he posited for he had touched her, spoken to her (he was desperate to run upstairs and check his mark but that could wait), Fred was less clear. 

‘You can talk to me about anything, you know?’ he asked, trying to put as much weight behind his words as possible, trying to convey the feelings just below the surface. ‘Anything at all.’ She pushed the large book off her and stood a little unsteadily. He wanted to reach out and help but didn’t. She needed him to wait, she needed him to listen to what she asked.

‘I know,’ she said softly. Because she did, and she didn’t. She knew that with the weight of his words he was really asking if she knew about their bond, but she knew that she couldn’t tell him the things that had been done to her. The things _she_ had done.

‘Do you?’ George had unfolded himself from the sofa and was standing softly facing her. Closer than Harry or Ron, closer than comfort – but that wasn’t true she realised. He was close and it was overwhelming, but he was still George and the feeling in her stomach was as much excitement as nerves. Bravely she looked into his eyes and found clear blue gazing back, he was still there, still a person she knew and trusted rather than the malevolent presence she had come to expect when people got this close. Keeping her eyes fixed on him she gave a small nod. ‘Anything,’ he reiterated, thinking nothing in the entire world had ever been more enchanting than Hermione stood before him, curls breaking loose from her plait, swamped by his brother jumper. He wanted to hug her, to tell her she belonged, not to him but to their family, to herself. The question of soulmates hadn’t been completely affirmed so he tried to make it clear that he knew without throwing around the weight of the word. ‘I’m here for you -’

‘I know,’ she stressed and, as an experiment, reached out and wrapped her small fingers around his wrist. Not his hand, nothing that could grab back. A great calm spread threw her from the point of contact. Deliberately she held her right wrist up in front of her, revealing his mark for the first time. ‘I know, but I’m not ready… I’m so sorry,’ she finished in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

George was transfixed at the sight of the blue willow tree that rested on her delicate wrist. _You made it_ the words danced between the branches. The sight of them sparked something deep, something elemental within George and, with the soft pressure from her fingers around his arm, nothing had ever felt more right. 

‘Never apologise,’ his voice cracked as he spoke. ‘I’ll always be here for you.’ And slowly he pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing to her the mark that he hadn’t even see completed himself. There was nothing sexual about the baring of his shoulder, but it set Hermione’s heart thudding, only soothed when her eyes found a small pair of golden wings fluttering around the words _You’re in my light_. And it was peace. To look at her words on his skin, words, the things she held onto above all else, golden and free. With every drop of courage she posessed, she reached out and traced her fingertips of over the mark. The wings flitted over to her touch and she watched, transfixed, as they followed the contact across his warm skin. A deep moan from George shocked her out of the mesmerism, and the proximity of their bodies alarmed her.  
George couldn’t help it. He held his breath as she breached the gap between them, nearly hissing when she made contact for he was wrong before. _This_ was right, unadulterated bliss. And when her fingers had started moving it felt as if every nerve were bathed in sunlight. It was too much to have her touch him like this, when she was close enough to count the freckles on her face and smell the coconut of her hair, and not be able to touch her back. A curl fell across her face. He imagined reaching out and tucking it behind her ear, how her eyes would come up to his and they would have one more point of connection. At that moment her fingers dipped into the groove behind his clavicle and grazed against his neck. He moaned, unable to help himself, and the magic was broken. She stepped away, eyes pinned to the floor, the only contact left was the loose hole of her left hand against his right wrist, and it felt as if that were all that was holding him to the ground. Then that was gone too and she was vanishing towards the stairs. At their foot she hesitated and looked back. Deep brown eyes boring into his.

‘Good night, George.’ And it was the first time his name had fallen from her lips. Then she was gone, and he was alone with Percy’s textbook and an empty glass, and it was the best night of his life.

He waited until he heard Ginny’s door close before flying up the stairs, not wanting her to feel like she was being chased. He threw open his bedroom door.

‘Freddie,’ he hissed into the darkness. ‘Freddie, wake up!’

George felt his way over to his twins bed and activated the small light there. Seeing his brother still asleep, he decided that he news overwhelmed subtlety, and in his excitement everything felt like a tremendous joke, so Fred awoke at three in the morning to his brother sitting on his chest.

‘Oof! George, what’s going on?’

‘I need you to wake up, I need to tell you something,’ George insisted as Fred sat up rubbing his eyes. ‘I woke up about half an hour ago, went downstairs for a drink. Then there was this strange noise and I saw Hermione crying by the window – no wait,’ for at this, Fred had tried to scramble out of bed, the urge to check on his soulmate overwhelming and his resentment at George for pushing him down growing exponentially. ‘I went over to see if she was alright and she looked up at me and, Freddie, she _said my words_. Hermione is my soulmate too.’

Fred blinked slowly, and George waited with bated breath. Would he be upset? They had always wondered if they could have the same soulmate but now that Fred had found her first, and already started thinking of her as his, would he resent George’s bond. As he processed the information a wide grin spread over Fred’s face, relieving all his doubts.

‘A triad?’ he whispered to which George nodded slowly. ‘She’s both of ours,’ and pulled him into a great hug.

‘Wait,’ Fred pushed him away. ‘You said she was crying.’ So George explained what had happened, how Hermione seemed triggered by touch, how she had revealed that she knew who they were to each other, how she had gone to bed and left him feeling like he had seen an angel. He only revealed the bear details of her touch, it was something private, something Fred would have to discover for himself. Both boys fell asleep, longing for the girl a floor below them, worried about her past, and desperate to become her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said we might get to Hogwarts but this took wayyyy more words than I thought it would (it's the second longest so far) so I left it here. Probably one more summer scene before getting back to school.
> 
> First romantic-styles scene, what did you think?
> 
> Confidence is still shaky so pls give me validation and comment with the things you liked :)


	12. Inklings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of summer.

It was the first day of August and Hermione found herself in Ron’s orange bedroom, watching silently as he put away his laundry as she played with the bracelets around her wrists. Since breakfast she had been trying to work out how to tell him about her soulmates. Luckily the twins had kept their distance, George clearly having told Fred about her aversion to touch as the nearest they came was a pair of winning smiles and the placement of a raspberry jam covered slice of toast in front of her (her favourite breakfast - _I wonder how they know?_ ). Now, as Ron stuffed socks into his overflowing drawer, seemed the perfect time to confide. 

‘Ron,’ she ventured to draw his attention. Seeing the look on her face, he came over to the bed and sat next to her. ‘I want to talk to you about these,’ gesturing to her wrists. The red fabric had always intrigued Ron, she didn’t always wear them but he’s only seen her without very early or after she had got ready for bed. Secretly he had always worried that they concealed scars and now the mystery was seemingly about to be solved his heart thundered uncomfortably. Her need for reassurance was plain as she toyed with the knots.

‘It’s okay ‘Mione, whatever it is.’ She smiled at his unbridled acceptance and slowly unwrapped each wrist before turning them over to him. The blue willow tree and the black fireworks. Ron blushed deeply at seeing her soul marks, not having realised that was the direction of this conversation and then stopped his thought in his track. _Two_. Hermione had two soul marks. But that would mean she was part of a triad; mean she would be one of the most powerful witches of all time! Although, when he thought of it, that wasn’t really a surprise. Academically she was already years above their peers, just held back as her magical core developed and caught up to her mind.

‘You’ve, um, you know who they are?’ She tentatively nodded. ‘Bloody hell!’ and he laughed a loud and joyous laugh. ‘Well this is brilliant. Will you tell me who? How long have you know?’

‘Not long at all,’ Hermione stated quickly, still unsure if Ron would be upset by the turn of events. ‘Only yesterday for one.’ She could see the pieces clicking together in his mind.

‘Yesterday? So its… its one of my family?’

‘This,’ she brushed over the willow tree, ‘this is George, and this one,’ indicating the fireworks, ‘is for Fred.’ As she watched his face grew sullen and she was terrified she would lose him. Reflexively she reached out and knotted her fingers in the sleeve of the long shirt he had worn especially for her that day, showing she needed him. 

Ron was upset, but not in the way Hermione was thinking. He was worried that she wouldn’t need him anymore, that they wouldn’t be friends, that his older brothers would swoop in and separate them, worried they would deny him time with his second sister. But at the feeling of her fingers in his clothes he relaxed, she knew what he needed as much as he knew her.

‘So you’ve not touched Fred yet?’ he asked, trying to restore the normalcy. ‘Holy merlin that sounds wrong!’ She giggled at the typical Ron-ness of the statement and shook her head.

‘No, its… well I touched George by accident. At the platform last year. And Fred… well you know I don’t like to be touched.’ At that Ron felt his heart swell that he was on the exclusive list of people she trusted but it also raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He had never asked, never pushed about why she feared contact and crowding so much, but this seemed like an opportunity.

‘Mione, you don’t have to but… could you tell me why? What happened to you?’ but he felt her freeze.

 _Nothing_ a voice in her head crooned, _nothing happened that you didn’t help in. Nothing happened_ to _you, you did it to him._ Fighting the voices she opened her mouth but as she did so her teeth caught the cut on the inside of her lip and Frank’s voice itself echoed around her head _they won’t believe you, you silly little girl_ relived his hand striking against her face _you don’t tell secrets_.

‘I can’t Ron,’ she squeaked and love him more for accepting her answer with only a shrug and slight disappointment.

‘Whenever you’re ready. Listen, did you ever hear back from Harry?’ and with that transition they moved on to their shared concerns over their friends continued silence. Over the year they had both had their suspicions, his avoidance of touch, his reluctance to change in the dormitories, his smaller than small frame. There was always a look in Harry’s eyes that reminded Hermione uncomfortably of her own, something Ron silently agreed with. 

In the end they decided to send Harry a final letter with the more reliable Hermes and if it returned unread, to come up with a rescue plan. Consulting Percy who agreed to loan them the owl, they were directed to the twins’ room to retrieve the screech owl. Outside the door, Ron saw Hermione hesitate. There was an odd series of bangs from within the room, but he knew this was not the cause. This would be the first time she had talked to them both when they were all in the know about their bond, and Ron was there to watch it.

Ron knocked once and entered at the shout. The sight that greeted their eyes was as odd as it was hilarious. Both twins were jumping from piece of furniture, attempting to catch the owl who was flying from corner to corner, red smoke billowing from his ears.

‘Come here you blasted bird!’ cried Fred as he slipped of the dresser.

‘Got him,’ shout George as he jumped between the beds. But he didn’t have him. Hermes swooped between his arms, pulling at his hair and remaining out of reach.

‘What do you want?’ they asked together, looking at Ron who was blocking their view of Hermione.

‘Now, now, I’m not sure that’s the tone to take with me. Not when you don’t know what I bring,’ Ron said smugly.

‘What do you bring, Ronnikins?’ asked Fred, eyes narrowed.

‘I am the bringer,’ he paused for effect, ‘of the soulmate.’ Dramatically he flung open the door and stepped aside, revealing Hermione chuckling behind him. She was glad he had taken some of the seriousness out of the moment, but the twins turned red, leaping from their positions on the floor, embarrassed. 

‘What are you doing to that bird?’ It was strange to have a normal conversation after the intensity of last night but now she didn’t want soulmates, she wanted Fred and George, she wanted friends. And a working owl that could take their letter to Harry.

‘We were trying to catch it -’ began Fred.

‘But the blasted thing won’t let us get near it -’ exclaimed George.

‘Honestly, you’d think we’re trying to poison him -’

‘But this is the antidote!’ Finished George, brandishing a small owl treat.

‘Or it should be,’ Fred muttered and all four of them fell about laughing.

‘Look well you better get him down sharpish before Percy comes to find out about the noise. Besides we’ve got a letter to send,’ instructed Ron. As a team they managed to get Hermes cornered and enticed him to nibble on the treat, the smoke gave one ginormous blue blast and faded away. The letter was attached, and Hermes set off towards Surrey where a small, beaten boy would only be able to watch as the owl clawed at the newly installed bars before his relatives would throw stones and drive it away.

When Hermes returned that evening, ruffled and still with the letter, Harry’s two best friends sequestered themselves in the corner of the living room and began to plot their next move. They weren’t deep into their plans when Ron noticed the twins trying to look casual as they inched ever closer.

‘I can see you two loitering,’ Ron called them out. Fred blushed, still a little uncertain of his relationship with Hermione and not wanting to make her feel crowded, but George just gave them a winning smile. To some extent they had just been unconsciously drawn to Hermione, unwilling to let her out of sight, but they had also spotted the clear earmarks of scheming and were intrigued.

‘Now then brother mine, we know the signs of mischief. I don’t suppose you would be wanting a mentor or two?’ George began.

‘How about someone dashing, ingenious, a connoisseur of preplanned rule breaking?’ asked Fred with a wink, getting his confidence back.

‘If you know anyone like that sure, but I don’t see why you’re both here,’ Ron replied, sticking his tongue out, but Hermione giggled and that was all they had been after.

‘Seriously, you two,’ said Fred, sitting down on the floor in front of them, ‘we can help. Don’t want either of you doing anything dangerous.’

‘Yeah, _either_ of us. I’m sure you’d just die if something happened to me, oh no wait, twelve years of evidence as a test subject proves otherwise,’ snipped Ron as he rolled his eyes.

‘Well, now we know if something happens to you, Hermione would be upset so don’t worry ickle Ronnikins, you’re safe from us,’ replied George sweetly.

‘May I?’ enquired Fred, gesturing at the letter, hoping to move the conversation along. Both nodded so the twins quickly scanned its contents.

‘So, Harry still hasn’t replied. You’ve heard nothing for how long?’ George interrogated.

‘Since school finished,’ came Hermione small voice and, despite the seriousness of the situation, neither boy could help smiling at the gentle cadence of her voice. ‘I’ve written about twice a week since but nothing, the letter from Hermes is the first one that has actually been returned.’ (little did they know that this was only because Dobby was speaking to Harry and breaking the secrecy that had been ruled necessary so he had missed the speedy flight of the screech owl.) ‘Harry never talks about his life away from Hogwarts and… well we think his family might be hurting him,’ she finished in a rush, upset that she was having to betray Harry’s confidence. The twins nodded seriously; they had their own concerns about the little boy who, despite his care in avoiding changing in front of the quidditch team, was unable to conceal the bagginess of his even the smallest set of robes or the birdlike fragility of his wrists. Over the last year the team had all taken turns to convince Oliver to conclude practices early when their little seeker looked ready to drop off his broom and, during games, the twins took particular care never to let bludgers even get close to him as they were sure he would shatter if one impacted. Yes, the twins often worried about the little boy who had been abandoned on the platform.

‘So a rescue mission?’ said Fred, excitement tinging his voice. The rest of the evening was mainly spent with Hermione nixing the more outlandish strategies as the three boys suggested everything from broomsticks ( _’Honestly that would take almost a day and Harry may be in no fit state to fly’_ ) to apparating ( _‘Are you mad? None of you even has a licence’_ ). Eventually it was Hermione herself who tentatively put forwards the idea of Mr’s Weasley’s enchanted car that she had seen on her tour. Once stated it was obvious that it was the only feasible idea and Ron was all for heading out that night but, surprisingly, it was the twins who advised a delay to round out their plan. The next afternoon Hermione met Fred and George in the garage while Ron distracted Mrs Weasley, hopefully giving them at least ten minutes. They had delegated in that manner as Ron was the least likely to help with secretive charms. It just so happened that this would give the triad an opportunity to be alone for the first time ever.

George arrived before Fred, the old wooden door swinging open crookedly to reveal the dusty interior and there was Hermione sitting by the window. With the afternoon flooding in, it caught on her curls and with the sunlight falling on her face and highlight the gold in her eyes, she looked truly heavenly. His heart thudded and his chest felt too full to breath. 

Hermione was thinking the same thing to herself with his red hair glowing against the dusty surroundings and his white shirt, he looked like an archangel descended to earth and she marvelled at the electricity racing between them. It was almost as if their magic was reaching out but sparking as it was unable to connect. Suddenly she was glad that George had come first, the shock of the intensity was easier to handle after their conversation last night, it didn’t threaten her. But Fred was still an uncertain, still like to push, to try to turn those sparks into flames but she had already burnt. As she looked at the purity that seemed to radiate from George, she felt tainted. As if ash had been rubbed against her skin. No, not ash, that was too smooth, too grey. Charcoal. Sharp and dark and still semi solid. The remnants of something that hadn’t full been razed, just destroyed beyond use or recognition. _I’ve done this to us, to all three of us, to our bond_ the voice in her head lamented, _incapable of even eradicating it, I’ve ruined it but left it to smear and darken anyone I touch. I should never have touched him, but I won’t ruin Fred_. She felt George take a step towards her and her eyes filled, head aching. She couldn’t bear it if he tried to comfort her, not after she’d already taken so much from him.

George saw her eyes fall to her lap, her fingers twisting in their nervous habit. He took a tentative step forwards but jumped as the door was thrown open, striking the side and displaced a box of yoyos. At the noise, Hermione had started, wrapping her arms around her and sinking back against the chair.

‘Sorry I’m late -’ Fred began as he ran into the room, but his twin caught him by the elbow, halting his progress and pointing out the small figure of Hermione, nearly trembling by the window. His heart ached and he glanced at his twin unsure what to do. He could see George preparing to talk, to offer her some words of comfort and suddenly it was very clear to Fred that that wouldn’t work at all. At this moment she needed to look outwards. He could see that she wasn’t as panicked as she had been the night with Neville and he was hoping that if he could ground her now, she would be spared the debilitating loss of control.

‘So I was thinking some invisibility charms for sure, and maybe a speed booster?’ he ventured and when her warm brown eyes looked up her felt the tension in his chest dissipate. He done the right thing. His small soulmate stood, brushing the ringlets out of her face and gingerly getting to her feet but staying on the far side of the room

‘Yes,’ her voice shaky but confident, ‘and I was wondering about an undetectable extension charm too.’

George gave his brother a reassuring squeeze and then wandered over to the car. ‘Dad only started tinkering with it this summer and hasn’t had much time with it.’

‘Mum,’ both twins explained at Hermione’s enquiring look.

‘All we know for sure it that he’s got it flying. Come on, Ron can only distract Mum by asking about laundry charms for about ten minutes before it isn’t believable.’ And with that they got to work, moving carefully in the confined space so as not to crowd Hermione and spelling with unconscious synchronicity; so when Mrs Weasley came bustling out of the house not long after she found the twins feeding the chickens and Hermione reading quietly under a near by tree, none the wiser that the old car in the garage was now one of the most heavily enchanted objects in Devon probably capable of getting a small army through a battle zone unnoticed for at least the next few weeks.

It had been decided that Hermione would have to stay behind as Ginny would almost certainly notice her absence from their shared room and ask difficult questions; a safe and true excuse that both twins had settled upon when they had seen how upset she was, torn between her desire to help her friend and her apparent fear of being out at night. So at midnight just the three boys convened in the courtyard, quietly pushed the Ford Anglia out of the garage and set off to fly to Surrey.

****************************** 

The car was functioning perfectly and with the nifty _point me_ charm, they soon found themselves rumbling up a muggle street (twenty feet in the air). They knew that Harry lived at number four but they had come up the road the wrong way and now were struggling to read the tiny numbers. Suddenly Ron’s hand reached forwards from the back seat and tapped on their shoulders.

‘There,’ he whispered, far more quietly than necessary. But turning to look where he pointed, both boys could see why. George let out a small gasp and Fred’s hands whitened around the wheel. On an otherwise indistinguishable house, strong metal bars had been fitted to an upstairs window, as if for an animal. They brough the car up along side and reached out to tap on the window. The streetlights were just enough to illuminate a small figure curled on the bed. 

‘Harry’, they hissed but when he didn’t stir, Ron reached out of the back window and shook at the bars. The small boy started up right, eyes wide, pressing himself against the wall with a wince. After a second, a delicate hand reached for the glasses on his bedside table and the world came into focus.

‘Ron?’ Harry whispered in disbelief, his voice cracked and strained from disuse. 

‘All right Harry?’ asked Ron as all three Weasley’s grinned with a bravo they didn’t feel. Taking in the details of the room and the boy it contained, they saw how gaunt his cheeks were, how dull Hedwig was. They also saw the catflap in the door and the dark stains on the ragged sheets - _was that blood?_ Ron was explaining the plan to Harry as George dug in the escape kit Hermione had compiled for them, pulling out a long length of magically reinforced rope. Tying on length to the support between the front and back doors, he tossed the other end to Harry and told him to stand back. The immediacy with which he complied was a little alarming, standing silently even when the bars came flying off. 

‘Get in,’ Ron called, extending his hand.

‘But all my Hogwarts stuff… my wand… my broomstick…’

‘Where is it?’ asked Fred taking charge and when the location was revealed he and George made to climb through the window.

‘You can’t,’ Harry started, ‘I’m locked in.’

‘No problem, we can pick it,’ said George brusquely.

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘There are more, locks only on the outside.’ They could see the terror that even this small admission cost Harry so without pressing further, Fred directed the car to the ground for he and George to climb out. They could go in the front door easy enough. 

he directed the car to the ground as he and George climbed out, giving the steering over to Ron who levitated up to help pack the things from Harry’s room. Ron took over the steering and levitated back up to start collecting the things from Harry’s room. With the aid of no more than a hair pin, the twins got in the front door and crept over the cupboard under the stairs, another fiddle and they were in. It was a small space but oddly adorned with crayon drawings. Harry’s school things had clearly been chucked in without any care and several tail feathers on his Nimbus were bent. They collected everything and revealed a small cot underneath it all. _That’s strange_ , they thought, _why would anyone put a bed (if you could call it that) in a cupboard_. But with no time to spare they crept back up the stairs, planning to re-enter the car through Harry’s window. 

They stopped short at the sight of the door. No less than seven locks were barring the door shut, barring a little boy inside. Outraged they made quick work, simply unscrewing the ones they couldn’t pick from the doorframe. As they entered a loud cough echoed through the house and Harry simply froze.

Fred was in the car pulling the trunk into the expanded back seat so George was left to push alone. Trunk in, George pulled Harry towards the window, ignoring the way he flinched in the interest of expedience. A sudden hoot came from the corner of the room, breaking the trance Harry seemed to be in.

‘Hedwig,’ he cried. But his was not the only voice that rang out in the house for the shout and the sound of thundering footsteps alerted them to the awaking of the muggles. George leap in the front seat, taking Hedwig as Harry tried to scramble into the back with Ron but a large, meaty man had come charging into the room and with a bellowed ‘oh no you don’t _freak_ ’ had grabbed Harry’s ankle and was pulling violently.

‘Put your foot down Fred!’ shouted George and the car soared away. The charms functioned perfectly and only the muggles yelling out the window, and the one in the bush in the garden, had any idea that a magic car had passed at all. The journey back seemed quicker than their outwards as the young boys in the back seat caught up, all three Weasley’s noticing that although Harry gave a shocking account of a wayward house elf, he mentioned nothing about his sheets, the cupboard, or even the lock on his door.

**************************** 

The next morning, Hermione forced herself to wait until a normal hour before throwing off her covers and running down in her pyjama’s, desperate to see if the boys had succeeded, leaving Ginny (a late riser) still in bed. Once in the kitchen she was delighted to see a black head of hair sitting among the red.

‘Harry!’ she cried, running around the table to stand beside him and for a moment they both beamed at each other, but neither willing to make the first move.

‘Hello, Hermione,’ he said, touching the sleeve of her pyjama top and that slight reassurance, that familiar habit of her friend, restored her confidence enough to slip her arms around his neck. Her courage to make contact was matched by Harry’s reluctance to let her go and they clung to each other in the kitchen of the place they had found refuge. Ron looked on from across the table as both his friends hugged as they would never touch anyone else.

Hermione took up the chair that Fred vacated so that the two non-Weasley’s could sit together and breakfast continued quietly until Mr Weasley’s bustled in clearly exhausted!

‘Nine raids!’ he exclaimed, sitting down with his children and suddenly noticing the interloper (he had got used to Hermione’s presence the day before). ‘And who might you be?’ he demanded, the night’s stresses making his voice a little less jovial than he had intended and he watched the boy freeze. The green eyes hit the table and he replaced the fork he had been holding.

‘Harry Potter, sir,’ he said, both hands clenched in his lap. Arthur could see that his presence was making the boy unnaturally nervous and so he searched his mind for anything he could say in reassurance. Despite his fame, he knew next to nothing about the child hero and Ron’s letters home over the school year were incredibly brief. _Muggles!_ his brain recalled. Yes, he knew the boy had been raised by muggles but what to ask. With the silence growing longer and his wife’s reproving eyes upon him, Arthur asked the first thing that came into his head.

‘Now tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ as far as he could glean they sat in the water and just bobbed as you were having a bath (quiet unlike the magical equivalent that habitually staged re-enactment of great navel battles.) To his great relief both new children giggled, and the happy atmosphere of the Burrow was renewed.

The post had been delivered by the time Ginny was up and she slouched down in her dressing gown. She had taken a bowl from the cupboard and was just looking for the ceral when her eyes fell upon the small boy between Hermione and Percy. 

‘Oh, that’s Ginny,’ said Ron, by way of introduction and with a jerk of his head continued ‘Harry Potter.’

 _Harry Potter!_ The hero of the Gryffindor quidditch team was sitting in her kitchen, smiling at _her_. In her shock the bowl slipped between her fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere.

‘Watch out!’ cried the boy with the dark hair and that was too much for Ginny. She turned and ran. _Her words_ , she had to check her words. Leaving the table bemused she hurled herself into her bedroom and jumped in front of the mirror. She crossed her fingers (not really sure what she was hoping for) and pulled her long red hair away from her neck.

_Watch out!_

The words stood out against her skin as resolutely black and undecorated as ever. With a relieved sigh, Ginny’s cheeks began to heat up as she realised what she had done. _He must think I’m insane_ , she lamented as she threw herself on her bed. She couldn’t go back down now she had embarrassed herself by smashing the crockery and fleeing without a word.

**************************** 

The next two weeks passed in a blur, each day the twins tried to get closer to Hermione but something was wrong with her. Whenever they walked in a room, her eyes would meet theirs and there would be the magnetic sensation pulling them together; then her eyes would shut off, they could see the wall, watch the emotion forcibly drained from her face. So although their magic kept pulling, they gave her the space she had asked for. When they saw her staring blankly at a page, not even _reading_ , Fred caved and wrote to Charlie. The twins had agreed not to confide in their family yet, although they thought they might already suspect, not wanting the pressure of the celebrations that usually accompanied a bonding. But Charlie had always been closest with Fred and he didn’t know what to do, felt himself spiralling with his inability to help the smile reach Hermione’s eyes, mocked by the blackness of his mark that he couldn’t bring himself to colour without her consent, but it taunted him. And when he saw the gold on George’s chest, he ached to know what it would feel like to feel her touch.

Charlie’s reply came quickly and was disappointingly brief.

**Dear Fred,**  
I’m coming home for Gin’s birthday in a few days and will talk to you then. Keep your chin up and don’t worry about anything – we’ll get your soulmate head-over-heels.  
Charlie 

Despite it being what he wanted, Charlie’s reply made him feel uncomfortable and exposed, as if he had betrayed Hermione’s trust somehow, as if he had written she was letting him down. Which wasn’t true at all. As much as he wished for more, Fred didn’t want to push her at all and had only really written for someone to confide in, thinking that George (with his coloured words) wouldn’t understand. Fred omitted the details of George’s connection feeling it was his secret to share.

Charlie flooed in on the afternoon of Ginny’s birthday, arriving with a great grin and a steaming present (a model dragon that breathed fire and would guard your belongings). There was a huge family dinner with the two guests and all the Weasley’s, except Bill who was caught up with his curse breaking commitments. Hermione had found herself tucked between Charlie and Fred. She liked the new face. He was kind, charming, and told her lots of interesting things about dragons (making her consider Care of Magical Creatures for an elective). But he had a tendency to shuffle his chair closer to her at every opportunity, making her shuffle closer to Fred. She tried to make herself as small as possible to avoid the touch from either side, keeping eye contact with Harry and George to keep the anxiety at bay.

Fred for his part was diligently avoiding touching Hermione too. This is not how their first touch would happen. Not in the middle of a family dinner for his sister, not when she was cowering away from any contact, not when it was clearly a last resort. Every time Charlie found a reason to crowd her, he would shoot Fred a wink over the top of her head. Across the table he could see that George was ready to leap out of his seat and the only thing keeping him down was the knowledge that another person in her space would only make things worse.

‘So then Hermione,’ smirked Charlie as he lay his arm across the back of her chair. ‘I hear you and Freddie have been getting on famously, quiet the connection,’ he finished with a wink. The table was generally busy but Fred could tell that everyone apart from Percy, who was lecturing Ginny about the library returns policy at Hogwarts, had a subtle eye on them. Harry, next to Ron, had tangled his fingers in his sleeve (he always wore long sleeves now despite the heat) in silence sympathy with Hermione.

Before she could reply, Charlie reached out a thumb from the hand that was resting on the chair and stroked it down her shoulder. For anyone else this perfectly innocent gesture would have been conspiratorial, comforting. But for Hermione, who was struggling after an evening of space invasion, it was reminiscent and predatory. Tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Why don’t we all go through to the living room?’ asked Mrs Weasley loudly. She could see that Hermione was nearly crying and that Fred and George looked ready to murder their older brother. Fratricide was not a good way to end a birthday. She had her suspicions about Hermione for a little while but had decided to let the girl come to her, mothering her until she was trusted and hopefully confided in. She thought the worst thing to do was rush her and risk alienating her from the family, leaving her perhaps with no one at all.

Unfortunately, Hermione’s trials did not end at the dinner table for, with their enlarged numbers, space was severely limited

‘I suppose you could always sit on Fred’s lap,’ Charlie quipped. But it was too much. How many times had Frank pulled her onto his lap? How many times had he held her down while he ground against her, his breath hot and heavy and his fingers bruising? _You silly little girl_. Her breath fell apart, she fell apart. Hands were wrapping around her neck. Fingers were seeking. Breath was hot. It was burning her. Trying to find reality she looked around at a room of faceless figures, looming over her, hands reaching out as she fell down. _Why are they still coming closer?!_ she scrambled off the floor and ran.

There was a shocked silence in her wake.

‘You fucking idiot,’ shouted George.

‘She doesn’t like to be touched,’ spat Fred, getting in Charlie’s face and pushing him back. For his part, Charlie was terrified. He hadn’t meant to scare her, to spark whatever that was. He just wanted to have a laugh and encourage Fred’s soulmate closer to him. _Just Fred’s soulmate?_ he wondered as he saw the identical looks of rage and concern. But it wasn’t his place to ask after what he’d done. Both twins made to go after Hermione but found their way blocked by Harry and his red-headed shadow.

‘Don’t,’ said the young boys together. And silently turned to go and find the girl who was a sister. 

That night, nightmare’s drove Hermione to Harry’s bed and Ron woke to find the two clinging to each other, peaceful smiles on their face. That was the day Charlie sat down for breakfast with a black eye that no-one commented on and he felt he deserved. It was also the day that their Hogwarts letters arrived and a trip for Diagon Alley was planned for next week. As Fred watched the young trio discussing their plans for the day, he decided he no longer minded the blackness of his mark. It was proof that he understood her, knew what she needed. It was proof of his commitment to take care of her. He knew she needed space and, if that was only thing he could give her for now, it was what she would get. But this decision didn’t stop him, or George, from hovering. When the trip to the alley came (and Harry had been found), both he and Hermione tangled their fingers with Ron’s shirt as he led them down the street, half a step in front to clear the crowds. The twins smiled behind them, George thinking the formation was rather like a mother goose and her goslings, both hopeful for the day when the brown head would walk between them instead. 

*********************** 

Draco sighed bored with the monotony of Vincent’s conversation as they tailed around Diagon Alley after their fathers. It was always tiring being around other ‘dark’ families, the traditional Malfoy façade had to be in place but if Draco imagined they were spies (forgetting that they really were) it was all Slytherin enough to pass the tedium of the holidays. 

Lucius had his own reasons for selecting their companions. Since his conversation with Dumbledore just over a year ago it had remained imperative that he remain in good standing with the remaining Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the Malfoy reputation had suffered with the old crowd as a result of all the sycophantic flattery he had done to stay out of Azkaban. At the beginning of summer Crabbe had arrived at their manner claiming to be the leaders of a resurgence and commanding to search the manor for tools that would assist their mission. Unable to deny them access without arousing suspicions Lucius had recruited their house elf Dobby to investigate and hopefully foil their plots. Knowing Crabbe would never think to be concerned with the observations of an elf, Lucius had given him as much free range as he could only implementing a rule of absolute secrecy. He knew that as much distance had to be kept between himself and the attempt in case of a legilimency attack (his shields were far inferior to his wife’s). So with some trepidation, Dobby had been sent off on his mission and Lucius had been kept as far away as possible, the only hint that anything was occurring was when he found Dobby ironing his hands for breaking the rule of secrecy. Lucius lamented the enforcement but knew that he could not risk discovery. So they were trailing around Diagon Alley with the man and his insufferable son, in an attempt to ingratiate himself and assert his dedication to the ‘cause’.

Earlier, Draco had tailed his father into Borgin & Burke’s, shuddering at the malice that seemed to lurk in very shadowed corner. While the two men discussed business with the proprietor, Draco wandered around the shop eyeing the variety of dark objects on display. He found himself intrigued by a large black cabinet with ornate metal embellishments, there was something majestic but broken about it and Draco found himself drawn towards it. There was a magic that seemed to emanate from it, reaching out to him and pulling Draco closer with its promised serenity. The closer he got the more he was convinced that the cabinet was breathing, tiny exhalations seemed to be reaching his ears as if it was alive. _I bet Harry would love to see this_ he sighed internally. _Harry_. This was the true source of his melancholic summer. Over the school year he had allowed himself to fall into the part of the ‘enemy’, taunting Harry’s friends in line with the Malfoy expectation and shooting glances at his soulmate as he tried to disguise longing for distain. Then at the end of the year Harry had gone and gotten himself tangled up in a catastrophic adventure and Draco, for his own piece of mind, tried not to believe the rumours. It was better for his sanity to believe that it had been some indoor Quidditch, typical Gryffindor tomfoolery, than to think that Harry had fought through the strongest defences in the wizarding world to face down the Dark Lord again. No, his heart couldn’t take it. And to make it all worse, when he had tried to sneak into the hospital wing to assure himself of Harry’s wellbeing, the weasel prat had sent him away without even a glimpse of the honey coloured skin and hypnotic green eyes. 

When summer came around Draco found himself without any way to contact Harry and, while the taunts had at least provoked Harry into looking at Draco, he now berated himself for his actions. _If we had been friends, he might have wanted me to write to him_. But now it had been nearly two months with only his memories and his parents were getting more than a little frustrated that nearly every sentence started ‘Harry would have…’. The trip to Diagon Alley that day had come about after an exasperated Lucius reaching the end of his patience had discovered (through his network of informers) that Arthur Weasley was taking a day off to accompany his brood (and perhaps his son’s absentee soulmate).

Just as Draco was reaching out a hand to the cabinet, preparing to turn the gilded handle and bask in the warm of its magic, his father called for him. Their business in Knockturn Alley was concluded and Draco was hurried away from the cabinet (and his soulmate hiding inside). The shopping party made their way back to the main street to start gathering school supplies for the boys’ upcoming year while a terrified Harry sought out his friends. It was in the crowd outside Flourish and Blots that Draco spotted a head of unruly black hair, it’s perfect disarray causing his heart to stutter and he had to bit his lip from calling out. 

Detaching himself from his father, Draco wandered closer to Harry but saw that he was surrounded by red-heads and his muggle-born friend Granger. Knowing that his presence would likely not be received well, he snuck up to the balcony that ran around the shop and contented himself with observing his little soulmate. It had been months and Draco felt as if he had been starving, now avidly consuming each second with Harry in view. Having obsessed over Harry for a year, he was more equipped than anyone to notice the differences in the boy. And there were differences. Harry seemed smaller than last term if that was possible, not in his height but in his body (although he hadn’t grown at all it seemed, especially compared to Ron and Draco who had both shot up a few centimetres, even Granger stood taller than Harry’s diminutive frame). There was a slight gauntness to his face, an inwards shrink to each action as if taking his arms away from his body was to be avoided. The way his eye contact flickered when he spoke to someone was the same, and the fingers that clung on to Weasley. His smile was still his quick, blinding grin but there was a stiffness to Harry’s movements that set Draco on edge. Was this the lingering legacy of the trials of last term?

As Draco watched the group they shuffled deeper into the overcrowded shop, both Granger and Harry sticking to Weasley’s side; but he also noticed the twin red-heads, subtly shuffling people aside, making more room around the group. Granger seemed to be talking a mile a minute as normal, enthused by the prospect of meeting Lockhart. _She probably fancies him_ Draco sneered in his mind. (As it happens this wasn’t true. Hermione was thrilled at the prospect of meeting such a famous author, the author of one of her _textbooks_ no less, but the sticky sweet way he grinned in each of his posters made her feel a little sick, she knew grins like that, knew what torments could hid behind the debonair façade). 

Draco wished Harry would speak. Then before he knew it a strange man was grabbing his soulmate and dragging him to the front of the shop, thrusting Harry into the grip of Lockhart himself. Even from this distance, he could see the unnatural brightness of Harry’s eyes. Draco nearly threw himself down the stairs, not having a plan but figuring that he could make it up as he went. However, halfway down he collided with the figure of his father who put a steading hand on his shoulder.

‘Careful, Draco,’ Lucius hissed, pointing his gaze to the Crabbe’s who stood sneering at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Harry is quite alright – it’s just a photo.’

So Draco found himself pinned back, by expectations and an arm around his shoulder, as Harry fled back to the Weasley’s who descended upon him. _Why does everybody else keep touching him?!_ Then, as if by magic, the group was heading their way. He _had_ to say something. Something funny, witty, maybe even sarcastic. Something to put a smile back on Harry’s downcast face. The group was level with them and Draco pressed himself forwards against the banister.

‘Can’t even go into a bookshop with out making the front page, huh?’ he called. And it happened. After two long months, emerald eyes met silver and Draco's heart soared. 

‘Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!’ spat the little girl with more venom than Draco was expecting, _did she think he was making fun of Harry?_ To Draco’s horror, he saw Harry sidle closer to the girl and whisper in her ear! He couldn’t even hear his voice and in a bad habit born of a life time of easy, Draco lashed out again at not getting what he wanted.

‘Got yourself a _girlfriend_?’ he sneered. 

The whole Weasley contingent was gathering now and after some barbs thrown between the young boy and his son, Lucius decided it was time to insert himself. He could see little Harry Potter withdrawing and knew that Draco would not wish his temper to ruin anything and that his son was likely to suddenly offer an apology when he noticed. The Crabbe’s were observing with sharp eyes.

‘Oh dear,’ he began with his best, most dismissive drawl as he stepped towards the group. ‘It seems we are going to have trouble.’ Lucius’ words were perfectly timed as just then Draco had spotted the effect of the confrontation on Harry. Luckily Draco was smart enough to realise that his father’s words were as much an instruction as a warning and his small blond head snapped to the corner where they were being judged. Unwilling to further antagonise Harry’s friends, Draco let his father lead the performance. And what a performance it was for by the end Lucius and Mr Weasley were fighting on the floor and, once they were pulled apart by the giant games keeper, Crabbe Sr gave him a nod and their trip continued with much mutual disparaging of blood-traitors and ‘mudblood’ sympathisers. But in the chaos of the tustle, noone had noticed as Crabbe Sr slipped a battered, leather bound journal into Ginny Weasley's cauldron.

The last two weeks of summer passed in much the same manner. Draco was removed from Harry, the twins watched over Hermione. The days passed with gentle looks and withheld touches but each time they got her to smile, got the deadened look to retreat from her eyes was a win. Her nightmares came regularly and she often migrated to Harry’s bed but the twins noticed this was mainly on nights that their father worked late so they made a silencing potion and smeared it on the stair so she could sleep without the creaking that seemed to disturb her so. Molly had seen it too and, unbeknownst to the twins, had fixed the step that had been broken for seven years earlier the same afternoon. Hermione and Ginny grew closer, the younger girl finding that (despite her initial request having been a ruse) she enjoyed having another girl around. She watched the exacting standards her new friend held herself to, determined not to make a single mistake, as if one moment of failure would turn her out of the wizarding world into hell. Unsure how to help, one day when the boys had all gone down to the village, she showed Hermione how to sneak into the broom shed.

‘Oh, I don’t know Ginny, I’m not much of a flyer,’ Hermione placated.

‘Oh we’ll soon teach you,’ dismissed Ginny, knowing that her real reluctance came from a fear of losing control rather than actually flying, ‘close to the ground and I’ll hold on to you. Besides Bill’s had these brooms enchanted since I was old enough to sit on them, they can’t go out of the paddock. Bill’s the only one who knows I still fly,’ prattled Ginny as her mindless chattering seemed to have distracted Hermione from the fact that she had sat herself astride a broom. Once she was settled she drew the older girl’s attention, ‘see! Your already doing it. Just push up gently – I’ll hold on,’ she reassured.

And Hermione did and found herself hovering a few inches above the ground.

‘I’m doing it!’ she giggled. Holding the handle firmly, Ginny walked gentle across the field pulling Hermione through the air in her wake. She pulled her in every direction across the grass, building up to a run as the brunette laughed. Eventually out of breath, Ginny collapsed on the ground and was gratified to see that Hermione remained afloat next to her. ‘I always thought it would be so hard to control.’

‘You don’t have to always be in charge,’ Ginny ventured, unsure how the older girl would receive it. Unfortunately, her smile fell away and her hands tightened around the wooded handle.

‘I do,’ Hermione muttered, ‘I have to handle things, mistakes might change everything.’

‘Not with Quidditch, look!’ and without a second warning she jumped on the second broom, shot forwards a little way then turned the handle deliberately towards the ground. She went flying over the handle.

‘Watch out!’ Hermione screamed. But it was unnecessary for Ginny bounded to her feet, grass-stains on her clothes, laughing.

‘See, not every mistake is the end of the world,’ she said still laughing. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny’s on the nose demonstration, but it did give her confidence that a fall wouldn’t be irreparable and by the end of the afternoon she could fly a slow lap alone. However, while she appreciated the sentiment, Hermione knew that her problems were a lot bigger than Quidditch and when she lay in bed that night the remembered weight of her uncle pressed against her chest, reminding her of everything she had to loose if she let the wizarding world slip away. Nightmares drove her to Harry that night but it was Molly who discovered them and stood over them with a concerned gaze. She knew there was nothing but sibling love between them but her uneasy persisted as to the cause of both her charges’ poor sleep.

Over the course of their stay, she had grown increasingly trepidatious and so, unsure what to do about the two new children in her care, Molly wrote a carefully worded missive to Professor McGonagall, sure that the head of house would be in a better position to offer comfort and support than merely a concerned mother of a friend. 

But here Molly had made a crucial mistake by writing a combined letter of concern for it had been decided long ago that for the greater good Harry must remain with his relatives, no matter what happened inside that house. So, a twinkly eyed general had designed a ward to redirect any mail concerning Harry to a tower guarded by a gargoyle and the tartan guardian of the Gryffindors never received Mrs Weasley’s letter. Unfortunately for the little girl with brown hair and phantom hands that chased her, her problems would not be addressed either for to do so would acknowledge the letter’s existence. Besides, reasoned the old man, Harry will need friends who understand him, friends who knew that saving yourself might not always be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever to write but is basically the length of two chapters. I kept it all together so that the summer would be finished and we could move back to Hogwarts.
> 
> Also, I love Charlie as a character and he will be getting a more positive return at some point so pls don't give me hate for him. This was kinda a slice of life chapter and covered the major canon events of summer so let me know if you liked any of my takes on it? Ik Fred and Hermione haven't had much time together but he had his first soulmate moment so what did you think? Also some Drarry (that scene took me the longest so feedback would be great!).
> 
> The more I'm trying to reflect on the chapter the less confident I am with it :/ but i am going to push on regardless! Up next: Hogwarts year 2. how will the twins deal when Hermione might be in danger? and how will Draco be when his soulmate still seems intent of getting in trouble?!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter and has given kudos , it really does help motivate me when I'm not really sure if I am writing anything good so please keep it up :) literally anything you think would be great to hear, you've fav moment, fav character, pls talk to me x
> 
> as always, lkm if I've got anything majorly wrong with spelling and grammar


	13. Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September  
>  **Trigger Warning** references to child abuse and (probably) stalking. Its only in the very last bit but there isn't a page gap to mark it in. I've put a **TW** between paragraphs but you might miss it so just watch for after the twins' letter if you want to skip over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi I was a complete buffoon and left out a key sentence in the last chapter but I added it about 12 hours after upload. In case you missed it (and its kinda important): But in the chaos of the tustle, no-one had noticed as Crabbe Sr slipped a battered, leather bound journal into Ginny Weasley's cauldron.

Despite nearly twelve years of Hogwarts send offs, leaving the Burrow on September 1st was always chaotic and it was a simple fact that even a magically extended Ford Anglia struggled to fit seven children, two adults, trunks and assorted pets. At one point the car had simply started ejecting luggage, as soon a Percy added Hermes’ cage, Fred’s trunk would be expelled from the front window. But eventually, with several new charms, they were all inside and speeding towards London. As soon as they were in the station they marched through the barrier with military precision, first Percy, then Mr and Mrs Weasley with Ginny, and (after an encouraging smile from Ron) Hermione with the twins. 

As soon as she emerged from the barrier, Hermione clenched her hands tighter around her trolley, the chaos of the platform somehow being double her memory. Fred smiled down at her reassuringly, his blue eyes bright and magnetic and in a glance he was able to make the air around her lighter, as he could literally lift the weight of the sky from off her shoulders.

‘Only a year ago,’ George mused a small smile playing at his lips. For it was _only_ a year ago that they had collided on this very platform and he touched his soulmate for the very first time. So much had changed since then, for one thing she was no long a brunette stranger disappearing into the mist, or a friend of their brother’s sat just out of reach across the common room. At Hermione’s request, their relationship remained private, but he could firmly say that they now had a relationship, even if it was only friends. 

‘The first year,’ replied Hermione quietly, looking up at both boys from under her long lashes as she promised it was only a beginning. Fred groaned internally _how are her eyelashes so adorable?_ but at that point a joyfully cry interrupted them.

‘Hermione!’ and out of the crowd bumbled the round figure of Neville, beaming at the sight of his friend. ‘Oh I’m so glad to see you.’ He was a little surprised when he had spotted her between the twins having expected Harry and Ron, but approved of the protective way the boys were blocking out most of the noise. _Something’s changed there then_ he smirked.

‘Neville,’ called Hermione as she slipped carefully between the boys and ran over to him. He saw a second of hesitation before she pulled him into a hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered into his ear. The shrill whistle reminded them how late they really were so they all pilled across to the luggage compartment, not noticing that Harry and Ron still hadn’t followed them. Here the twins were waylaid by Wood who had a summer worth of Quidditch schemes to talk through so reluctantly they watched Hermione wander off after Neville. 

The reunited friends spent a happy journey catching up on the events of the summer, Neville recounting the tribulations of living with his grandma (it turned out that the vase he had broken was a gift from his mother’s mother and had been very dear to Mrs Longbottom, hence the extended punishment of no owls over the summer) and all the interesting plants he had been given for his birthday. He raved about the book she had given him, telling her how its tips had saved a fanged geranium, and quietly ignored the way she didn’t speak about anything but the Weasleys. They had a steady stream of visitors. Dean and Seamus who hid with them when Percy was after them for playing football in the corridor, Parvati who stuck her head to greet Hermione, even Ginny popped by too but was soon called away by other first years. Of course the twins appeared several times and Neville had to hid his face in his sleeve so not to be caught laughing at the casual way they tried to drop in, the sixth time even claiming that Lee had wanted to talk to Neville but the black boy had only shared an eye roll with him. However not once on the ride did Ron or Harry appear and, from the nervous tapping of her leg, Neville knew Hermione was worried.

As it transpired, she did have cause for the boys weren’t on the train at all.

All throughout the sorting, Hermione was distracted. The events of last year flashing before her eyes as she imagined Ron crumbled and broken, Harry bleeding as Lord Voldemort stood over him. She barely spared Ginny a smile when she joined the Gryffindor table and, when the feast began, only eat when she realised there was a full plate of food in front of her. _Where did that come from?_ She didn’t even smile when Lockhart was announced as the new DADA teacher. Across the table the twins could see her worry mounting and were a little concerned about their little brother themselves. Even they knew the line between trouble and danger and they were afraid little Ronnikins might have strayed across it.

After dinner, they lurked in an alcove and caught Professor McGonagall as she strode out, one of her sternest looks on her face.

‘Professor!’ George called out but when her steely gaze fell upon them, he pushed Fred forwards to speak.

‘Ah Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley,’ she began tersely. ‘I would think that the two of you would take a little more care with the kind of example you set to your younger brother. School pranks are one thing but international laws are not to be trifled with for the sake of a few laughs.’ Both boys swallowed at her proclamation. _International Laws_.

‘Um, actually… we were just going to ask if you knew where Ron was? We didn’t see him on the train you see.’

‘No I don’t suppose you would have considering Mr Potter and Mr Weasley decided to arrive by flying car. Unfortunately, it seems your brother’s density extends beyond switching spells as he selected the Whomping Willow as a landing sight.’

‘Wicked!’ breathed both boys simultaneously, quelling under McGonagall’s flashing eyes a second later.

‘It is a miracle they weren’t seriously injured, but one day their luck will run out so you will do well to discourage such carelessness among your family.’ They nodded mutely. ‘Now be on your way, I will send the boys up when I’ve finished with them.’

Not even this dire pronouncement could damper their excitement as they sprinted up to the common room. This would certainly be a Hogwarts Legend before long. 

But that evening, with Ron’s snapped wand and the scratches on both boys, McGonagall’s warning echoed back to them. In only a year they had seen Harry nearly get thrown from his broom, survive the summer, and fight Voldemort, and wherever Harry went so did Ron and Hermione. The boys were going to have to do some serious thinking about how to minimise the fall out of the trio’s adventures but neither wanted to prevent them entirely. As the common room celebrated the adventure they could see that they all needed someone who believed in them (but those someone’s could certainly easy the way a little).

At the end of the first week of term, Wood’s quidditch regime began and on the very first Saturday he marched his team down to the pitch only to be intercepted by a sneering Slytherin team.  
‘Where do you think you’re going Flint?’ Wood snapped at his supposed soulmate.

‘Quidditch practice,’ Flint replied coolly with a wink but this only served to antagonise Oliver more, something his soulmate revelled in.

‘I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today,’ Wood replied, seething with anger. Behind them Angelina sighed, now out of the running for the pool having bet on a passionate reunion between the soulmates the moment they saw each other that year.

‘Easy, Wood, I’ve got a note,’ said Marcus placatingly and he handed over a tightly rolled piece of parchment that Wood took with the tips of his fingers, determined not to touch the Slytherin captain any more than the required sportsman’s handshake.

Sitting across the courtyard, Hermione pulled on Ron’s sleeve indicating the escalating tension between the teams.

‘Oh no,’ sighed Ron, he could already see the way that Harry was shifting uneasily as the voices around him rose. As Wood was reading the note aloud, they both hurried over to their friend.

‘You have a new seeker. Where?’ quizzed Wood, practically vibrating with anger. As if they had practiced for it, the silver and green ranks split and Draco Malfoy stepped up proudly, preening in his new robes, his hair perfectly in place. They had indeed practied and Draco had spent extra time on his appearance that morning knowing that he was going to see Harry. _Just because Harry’s hair looks perfect when ruffled doesn’t mean mine has to_ he had reasoned privately as Theo had poked fun at his vanity.

‘Malfoy?’ questioned Harry, stepping forwards uncharacteristically. He hated conflict and was on the verge of leaving the pitch entirely but for some reason the silver and green seeker was drawing him closer. When he took a step, Draco’s heart thudded. He felt the pull between them and could see by the curiosity in the bright green eyes that Harry did too. _This_ is why he wanted to play Quidditch, the exhilaration of proximity. Harry was close now, close enough to touch, close enough to change black in to colour, to complete the first stage of the soulmates’ bond; in fact, if the shifting grip on the broomstick was any indication, the small seeker was unconsciously preparing to reach out.

‘That git Lucius’ son?’ Fred's blunt enquiry breaking the magnetic pull between them.

‘Funny you should mention Draco’s father,’ taunted Flint, ‘he’s made a rather generous gift to the Slytherin team.’ Again in rehearsed synchronicity all the player swapped the hand holding their brooms so that the silver script reading _Nimbus 2001_ was visible on each handle. Ron gasped, unable to contain the envy, those were the best brooms in the world!

‘We’ll see if you survive a match against one of these,’ Bletchley menaced, taking a step towards Harry to accompany the thinly veiled threat. Next to her, Hermione felt Harry shrink, pulling the sleeves of his robes over his hands in a futile attempt to protect any exposed skin. She hated it. Hated that he felt so threatened over a game. _I’ll help you Harry, however I can_ she had vowed. 

She stepped forwards and pressed her hand into Harry’s, to her great relief his fingers slipped out from his cuffs and clung to hers.

‘At least no-one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in,’ she defended bravely, trying to focus on the small details of their uniform to prevent the wall of intimidating males from spiralling into Frank’s looming form. ‘ _They_ got in on pure talent.’

Draco’s eyes zoomed in on the hands that were clasped between the two and felt his lip turn up in a sneer. It was a reflex, a response to protect his reputation and feelings. He wanted them separate and in that moment he really _hated_ the girl who outshone him at every opportunity, the girl who his soulmate was clinging to, the girl who got the chance to offer him comfort and support, got to laugh with him, got to know him. Having spent a summer around Death Eaters, constantly exposed to their prejudice, when Draco snapped it was their bigoted lexicon that spilled from his lips.

‘No-one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.’

And it was as if a switch had been flicked in the twins. They lunged forwards, only prevented from mauling Malfoy as the two captains dove between them. They saw red and felt the waves of distress radiating from Hermione, the volatility of her magic stirring the two boys up and driving them on. The chasers were shrieking as they tried to pull the twins back by their robes and Ron, outraged and determined to make Malfoy pay for attacking his sister so viciously, pulled out his spell-o-taped wand.

‘Eat slugs Malfoy!’ There was a loud bang and Ron was blown backwards off his feet. He sat up immediately, very green in the face, and when he opened his mouth a slug flopped sickeningly onto the grass. But the twins had yet to notice. All they could see was the imprint of Hermione’s tearful eyes and Malfoy’s malevolent sneer and they were going to make him _pay_.

Only when they felt the emptiness that always accompanied Hermione’s absence did they calm themselves enough to see her hurrying away with Harry and Ron. However, if Draco thought that the reprieve from the physical onslaught meant the end of the affair, he was quite wrong. For it only gave the twins time to remember that they were wizards. With stoic faces they pulled out their wands and began to jinx and hex the ever-loving hell out of Malfoy, only stopping when Katie arrived back at the pitch with McGonagall.

‘Misters Weasley!’ she bellowed as soon as she was within sight of the event with a voice that could crack granite. With a twirl of her wrist both boys found themselves contained in a transparent box than neither their spells, their fists, nor their voice could penetrate.

‘Both teams will return to my office were I expect a full and _true_ account of proceedings,’ she demanded of the standing players who obediently shuffled off, leaving Draco on the ground and the twins imprisoned.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ she began as she pulled him upright. He was a state and it was hard to keep a straight face, but no matter what his appearance Minerva knew the importance of the lesson she was about to impart. ‘According to Miss Bell you incited this incident with your use of foul and intolerant language. Is that correct?’ The blond boy nodded.

‘I am sorry, I was upset,’ he defended feebly, berating himself that not only had he managed to offend Harry’s friend and land himself in detention, he had clearly driven the wedge between them bigger than ever before.

‘That is never an excuse for the misguided and prejudicial violence, whether verbal or physical,’ she gave him her most quelling stare. ‘I know your father’s affiliations, even his most recent partnerships,’ weighted the word for significance, ‘and you would do well to remember that the Malfoy history and attitudes are well known and despite recent alterations, good will must be earnt not expected. You will serve detentions with both Professor Snape and myself and you will write a letter to your parents explaining your abhorrent behaviour this morning.’ She could see the little Slytherin preparing to object to her rulings so continued swiftly. ‘Yes, all three will be necessary. Now, off to Madam Pomfrey, I see the Weasley twins have made swift work of you.’ So with a dejected nod, Draco began to make his way towards the castle but his progress what somewhat impeded by his gait due to the combination of tripping, hopping, and skipping jinxes that had been delivered. What’s more, his mouth was foaming with soap suds, his nose hair was trailing on the ground and boils and stings covered his skin. _You could try making friends with him, Draco_ his mother’s departing words taunted him.

Next McGonagall turned to the twins whose violence seemed to have left along with Malfoy. She dissolved their ethereal prisons but her glare held them in place just as well.

‘I understand your ire, but violence is never the answer,’ she began.

‘I don’t think you do, Professor,’ interrupted Fred sullenly.

‘I wasn’t finished talking, Mr Weasley,’ she snapped in her most chillingly cordial voice. ‘Aggressive displays of muggle and magical violence are unacceptable from students of my house and to pick on someone two years below you… well, I expected better from you.’ This was too much for George.

‘We didn’t pick on him! He called Hermione a -’ but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

‘I know what he called her but teachers are in charge of discipline at this school. Nothing excuses your actions, not even the defence of a fellow student.’

‘She’s our soulmate,’ blurted out Fred before realising what he had done. For a moment McGonagall seemed lost for words.

‘Well, I.. well in that case congratulations boys,’ she said trying not to marvel at the fact that Fred had declare ‘our’, Miss Granger was a witch to watch indeed. ‘Nevertheless, while the pull of the bond may have sparked your actions it will not excuse you from punishment entirely. A week’s detention for each of you.’ And with that she turned away, trying to hid the smile that was creeping its way onto her face. She always loved it when a bond was discovered, and the boys were secret favourites of hers.

*********************

Once Ron’s slug problem had subsided the next two weeks passed without incident for Hermione and soon it was her birthday. She woke early as was her habit and started on the gifts. There were the customary books from her parents and sweets from her dormmates. After many amusing hours spent correcting last years text, Neville had followed the theme and given her ‘Muggle Plants and What They do’ with a very sweet note that she tucked inside. She was slightly surprised to get a gift from Ginny and laughed at the model broom that claimed to demonstrate ‘1000 moves for the Beginner Flyer’ and displayed the name of each move as the figurine performed it. 

Ron had given her a small locket and a note ‘ _I think I know who you’ll put in here but I thought I’d let you do it_ ’ and folded within the letter were small, individual shots of Fred and George, smiling up at her but clearly a bit embarrassed by the moment. Warm from the thoughtful gesture, Hermione gently tucked the pictures behind each pane, before tucking it under her pillow. Harry had given her something equally thoughtful. A small framed sketch of him, her, and Ron. He was a phenomenal drawer (having had little else to entertain himself) so the picture was remarkably realistic, and she placed it on her beside table in pride of place.

As she took off the wrapping paper off the last present she gasped as what looked like nearly twenty letters fell onto her bedspread. One was marked in big blue letters _read me first_ so she did and read:

**Dear Hermione,  
HAPPY 13th BIRTHDAY! This year will be the best yet!  
We are so excited to see you later. This day has always meant so much to us, Mum always likes to tell the story of how she was washing us in the sink and suddenly our marks came in. Finding you this last year has been incredible but it’s not just that you’re our soulmate and everything feels right when we are together, it’s that its _you_. You’re so patient and kind and clever and beautiful and you make the world better just by being in it. There is no pressure at all with us but we want you to know how much we care about you. We missed you before we ever knew you and we will be with you forever, however you want us. When we were very young, we both decided to write letters to our soulmates (for a while we thought you might be twins) every year for their birthday – there are this year’s ones in there too. These are the letters – some of them are silly, some are short, but they are all for you. You have had a place in our lives before we ever saw your face, and nothing will ever change that.  
You’ll conquer the world Hermione Granger, so we’ve settled on giving you the stars.  
All our love,  
Fred & George  
Ps be in the common room at 8 o’clock this evening **

Enclosed was a small silver neckless with the Aries constellation and each star seemed to wink as if it were actually in the night sky. Quickly she fastened it around her neck and noticed the comforting warmth it gave off. Hermione turned her attention to the paper on the bed and felt tears welling in her eyes. There were two letters for every birthday she’d had for years written in font that ranged from the deliberate formation of a four-year-old to the casual elegance of their font current script. As she read them she had never felt more at peace, on each page there were phrases she would cherish forever.  
_…Perce says girls are silly but I know you won’t be …  
…I think I dreamt about you…  
…Fred thinks you might be his too, you’d give us forever together then…  
…we’ll be real magic…  
…the idea of you keeps me grounded…  
…your devoted pen pal…  
…maybe this is the year…  
… we will have a lifetime so I don’t want to rush the start…_  
She was glad it was a Saturday so the other girls weren’t awake to see her cry but she clutched them to her chest and broke a little at the proof of the boys who would do anything for her and basked in the sense of being _loved_. She wanted to jump up, to race down to the Great Hall, and for the first time to hug her soulmates. Not even the echo of Frank could obliterate the pull she felt, she was out of his reach and a chance to embrace the present was at her fingertips. 

Carefully she gathered up all the letters and stored them safely in her trunk; but, once her bed was tidy, Hermione noticed one last envelop that she had overlooked. Curious as to its sender she picked it up. Thicker than a normal letter she concluded that it must have something inside. She slipped the flap open and up ended it. A small note slipped out along with two pictures and with that action her world came to a halt. The happiness of just moments ago drained from her body pushed out by ice. She was dying she was quite sure. Nothing else could feel like this.

 **TW** **TW** **TW**

Two pictures lay innocuously on her scarlet duvet but they destroyed everything. She didn’t know he’d had a camera.

The first was taken from the foot of her bed at home. The Hermione in the picture was lying asleep (or unconscious), her top was pushed up exposing her chest and her trousers had gone, her legs spread. In the dim light of the picture you couldn’t see the bruises on her thighs or the blood on the bed. The second was worse. Frank was naked in her bed, the camera held out in his left hand so his full body was in shot, and she was sprawled across him, her top was gone and her hand had been positioned around his member.

Her stomach turned. What could she do? Banish them? _No, I don’t know where banished objects go_ Proof of her crime now lay in Hogwarts, lay within the place she had started to consider a sanctuary. With trembling hands and erratic breath, Hermione reached out and took up the paper.

 _My heart,_ (how she hated that deplorable moniker) _  
I can’t stop thinking about what you did to me. You ran off so fast. I’ve got all these pictures and I can’t stop myself, each night I think of how you’d touch me but it’s not the same without you, without the things you do to me. You’ve made me love you Hermione. You drive me wild and it’s all your fault. You’re all mine and I can’t wait for the summer.  
Remember that telling secrets gets people hurt. Think of your parents and I’ll think of you. Counting the days,  
Frank_

In her head, Frank’s sickly crooning read the letter aloud. The images sat taunting her and a small snuffle from Lavender’s bed drove home the urgency of the situation. Time hadn’t stopped at all, in fact it seemed to be racing along, the sunlight pouring through the window growing brighter every second, it was going to illuminate them. She had to get rid of them, to hide the proof of what she’d done. 

‘Incendio,’ she whispered, the only spell she felt sure would work and that she could control. Before her eyes the pictures and letter crumbled down to ash, but the guilt did not disappear with them.

She didn’t see the twins at breakfast, she didn’t go. Hermione skulked in the library all day but, determined not be a coward on top of everything else, she forced herself to go to the surprise party the twin had thrown for her that evening. She thanked each in her small circle of friend for their gift but all enjoyment was gone. They played wizard party games but each time she caught Fred’s shine eyes, George’s big grin, _you drive me wild_ , Harry’s soft fingers, _the things you do_ , Ron’s soft shirt, Neville’s easy laughter, _counting the days_. 

Everyone could see Hermione wasn’t herself. She was slow to laugh, reluctant to touch anyone but Harry, and she seemed a shell of herself. She had nearly cried when she thanked the twins, holding the necklace so tightly the points of the stars dug deep into her palms.

‘What’s wrong, angel?’ George press quietly, the endearment falling from his lips with ease and Hermione longed for its comfort.

‘Oh nothing’s wrong,’ but her voice was higher than usual. Fred opened his mouth to press but she persisted, ‘I’ve just never really liked my birthday,’ and turned away to watch Ron attempt muggle charades. Not even his incomprehensible mime of a dying flame representing Cinderella could make her smile. Before long she excused herself and went to bed with the words burning her brain and her body aching from traumas past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY! I know everyone will be hating me for never letting Hermione catch a break but if it's any consolation I kinda hate it too :( I promise things will get better but Frank keeps her under the thumb for a little while still and I'm starting to plot retribution for the end of third year so you've just got to hold on until then. And just imagine what they dolled out on Draco x100000 if it will keep you going. I still love hearing your outrage so pls comment!
> 
> I know its dark but I really hope that the balance of humour and sweet scenes off sets the horrific stuff and its actually readable??
> 
> Did you like McGonagall's justice? And do you think Draco will ever sort himself out? (I know it was a dark chapter but if you liked any of the fun stuff pls comment too :) )
> 
> Up next: a threat seems to be falling on Hogwarts... perhaps there is a potion that might help solve things?  
> Do you guys prefer longer gaps but longer chapters or more regular updates of slightly shorter chapters?


	14. Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a call for shorter but more regular chapters so this takes us through October and the start of November and seemed like a good place to pause for a moment.

The autumn progressed rapidly and Hermione’s disillusionment with their smarmy new Professor grew by the day. She had given him the benefit of the doubt with the pixies but through these tedious and impossible re-enactments, it became clear than he must be a fraud. _Another adult who lies_ Hermione thought bitterly. Her parents seemed to sense her discontent in her letters and constantly reminded her that alternative education was available but that just made everything worse. Nothing in class interested her, she shut Fred and George down at every opportunity, retreating to more advanced academics, and their relationship was really no different than this time last year.

Both boys were fuming. Not with Hermione, but with what ever had happened that had ruined what they were building. After much examination they concluded that something had happened on her birthday, bad news from home perhaps? An ill relative? Whatever it was had caused Hermione to retreat behind her rigid emotional shields and in a month they had barely had two conversations; each time they approached she was literally running away, so they had taken to sitting silently in the library gazing over at the small table she would select, each attempt to talk violently shushed by Madam Pince.

The first time Harry saw Hermione smile since her birthday was when he extended an invitation to St Nick’s Death Day Party. The familiar light of intellectual curiosity finally alight, the ghosts of the castle found themselves bombarded by Hermione’s investigation into ghost etiquette. On Halloween night the three intrepid second years headed away from the Great Hall and down into the dungeons, Hermione reciting the customs she had learnt but instead of eye rolls, both Harry and Ron grinned at her, revelling in her renewed energy. 

Hermione’s ability to join in the odd trotting dance that accompanied the ear-splitting music made them a roaring success at the party and, when an exuberant game of Head Hockey broke out, the three left the caverns of the castle tired, but in good spirits. The castle always full of disembodied sounds and old groans, an unfortunate consequence of being over a thousand years old and your architecture in a constant state of flux, so the strange gurling and hissing was almost ignored by Hermione as her thoughts turned towards dinner. Harry however stopped dead and the colour drained from his face.

‘Harry, what’s the -’

‘It’s that voice again,’ he interrupted, his head spinning, ‘shut up a minute.’ So they did; they strained their ears as hard as they could but all that they heard were the background rumblings to which they had long grown accustom. ‘Listen!’ Harry persisted at the sight of his friends’ blank faces. Then suddenly he was running, tearing off up the stairs away from them. Ron shrugged at Hermione and started after him so she was left no choice but to sprint after them, her legs already exhausted from all the dancing.

Harry was surprisingly fast for a boy of his size and quickly disappeared from view, only the echoing footsteps guiding the pursuit. At the top of the marble stairs Hermione and Ron caught up.

‘Harry, what are we -’ but Ron’s enquiry was interrupted by Harry’s shush. Only their panting breath broke the silence.

‘Its going to kill someone!’ and Harry was gone again. _Kill someone_ questioned Hermione before setting off again, running as hard as she could to keep him in her sights, Ron falling slightly behind. At the start of a deserted passage Harry halted, closing his eyes and listening with every fibre of his being. Hermione’s quiet voice broke his concentration as Ron arrived.

‘ _Look_ ,’ she whispered pointing with a trembling finger to something shinning on the wall a little further along, surprised to find their shoes wetted by a large puddle of water. Hesitantly the trio padded along and then froze, rooted to the floor, as they looked up at the deep red letters gleaming against the stone.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.  
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Transfixed by the letters she didn’t notice the cat until Ron pointed it out. Under one of the guttering torches, Mrs Norris hung by her tail, swinging slightly in the breeze from an open window, the grating of the bracket bringing chills out on Hermione’s arms. The cat's dusty fur was ruffled, one side wet and the water was still dripping from her front paw. The splashing horribly magnified in the imposing silence. Forcing herself to look away from the cat, Hermione examined the letters. They had dripped slightly as they had been drawn, small runnels that had crept between the castle cracks. Steeling herself, she reached out and touched one. It was tacky under her touch, as if there was a skin on it. Pressing, she got some of the liquid on the tip of her finger and, rubbing it against her thumb, she came to the startling realisation that it was _blood_.

‘We should get out of here,’ Ron’s shaking voice sounded and broke the spell that had mesmerised them with the macabre scene. Stepping back, Hermione was horrified that she had touched it, wiping the traces on her fingers against the wall, and turned to flee with the others. But as she turned, she found herself face to face with what seemed to be the entire student body.

There was a vicious shout from the crowd but with so many faces there was no way to tell who had spoken. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of activity and revelations came thick and fast. There were teachers all around them, the students were dismissed and she, Harry, and Ron were interrogated about the events. No-one seemed to seriously suspect the trio but when they were quizzed about what had led them there, Hermione gave a small shake of her head. No-one could know if Harry was going mad, they would send him away. So they blustered through with thin explanations and were sent to bed just as the clock struck midnight. 

**************************** 

To say Hermione was surprised to find Draco Malfoy walking her home from the library two days later would be an understatement. It was near curfew and she had lost track of the time. Normally, Fred and George would wander over to her favourite table and help her return the books, but Professor Kettleburn had them in detention for feeding a shrinking solution to a crup. The lamps were burning low and it seemed every other student had returned to their common room, so the small cough had made her jump. Looking up she saw a distinctly uncomfortable Malfoy shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

‘Malfoy,’ she acknowledged him, preparing for a barrage of insults and wishing she had a friend with her.

‘Granger,’ he nodded but seemed unwilling to say more and just stood, observing her. Wondering if this was some new intimidation tactic, Hermione turned back to her work. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ he suddenly blurted out.

‘Your apologizing?’ she repeated stunned and more than a little confused.

‘For last month, well… for a bit more than that,’ he said, looking down at his feet as he toed a lump in the carpet. ‘For calling you a mud- well a you know what that day with the quidditch and, um… I wasn’t the one who shouted it last night.’ The words were coming very slowly so it was almost painful to listen to; then he seemed to find his footing and it all came spilling out a mile a minute. ‘I know it doesn’t make it any better and I’ve been trying to apologize for ages but you’re never by yourself but I was really upset and it’s how loads of the Slytherins talk and I really didn’t mean it and I think you’re a very good witch.’

‘Oh… well, thanks I guess,’ Hermione replied, surprised but a little gratified. He seemed to take a deep breath at that and edged a little closer to the table but as he opened his mouth to speak the jingle of a small set of chimes altered them that it was five minutes to curfew.

‘Oh Merlin! I’ll never make it back to the tower on time,’ exclaimed Hermione, jumping up and attempting to cram as many books into her bag as possible but they wouldn’t all fit. With her overloaded bag and arms full of texts she looked almost like a parody of herself.

‘I … I could help carry some of those,’ Draco suggested, fully prepared to be rejected.

‘But there is no way you could make it up to Gryffindor and then back down to your common room in time,’ reasoned Hermione, the logistics of rule-breaking overcoming her surprise at the offer.

‘Oh I can be out after curfew,’ said Draco smugly, ‘my Father’s on the board.’ She fixed him with her best stare (secretly she had been practicing imitating McGonagall for the next time the boys had a stupid idea).

‘You know arrogance doesn’t suit you, Draco,’ she rebuked quietly. He took the critique in his stride and took some book from her over-laden arms.

‘Everything suits me, Hermione,’ he quipped, trying out her first name and gratified by her small smile. ‘Have you finished Binns’ essay?’ And together they walked out of the library, chatting a little stiltedly and taking the back way up to Gryffindor tower. Just around the corner from the portrait hole Draco stopped.

‘Look Hermione, I really am sorry but… um,’ Draco was kicking himself; he had never stammered this much in his life. He was a _Malfoy_.

‘I know,’ she said letting him off the hook. ‘This doesn’t mean we’re friends on either end and I know how some of your housemates can be. In the morning we’ll be Granger and Malfoy again, just don’t make me hex you.’ She took her books from his arms and disappeared into the Lions’ Den.

That had been on Monday and but Hermione reflected that it wasn’t the more unexpected thing that had happened that week. Since Halloween the school had been awash with rumours but none of that really explained how Hermione found herself rummaging through Snape’s private stores at dinner time on Friday. Frustrated at the lack of information in the library, and having found no charm, hex, or curse for petrification, she decided that the only way to find out about an outdated legend was to ask an outdated professor; she raised the question of the chamber in History of Magic. After a somewhat revealing conversation, she, Harry, and Ron returned to the second floor to look for clues but found nothing helpful apart from the expected dramatics of Moaning Myrtle. That evening that had sat in the common room, reasoning through the suspects. Ron had been determined that Malfoy must be responsible but, after his secret apology, Hermione was doubtful. Nonetheless, the violence of the message did somewhat align with the rhetoric surround the Slytherin founder, so she had agreed that the green and silver house was their best bet. 

Over the week it had become clear the teachers had no evidence and no suspects and so as the three of them discussed their suspicions the familiar voice echoed around her head _handle things yourself_ so it had been her who had tentatively suggested Polyjuice potion. It was a simple matter of flattering Lockhart in order to gain his signature and with the extravagant flourish of a peacock feather quill, he had unwittingly unlocked the restricted section. Hermione had been in only once before when McGonagall had supervised her brief exploration of switching spells by allowing her access to a book that transfigures the reader if they stopped paying attention, after a very dedicated night she had returned the book and longed to explore more. Lockhart had given her a ticket to her haven but the eagle eyed supervision of Madam Pince who, no matter how much she liked a student, would not allow anyone to go unsupervised so Hermione had left with only the single tome of _Moste Potente Potions_.

The potion was far more complicated that Snape had made it sound, full of precisely measured intervals and specific cutting techniques but she was fairly confident she could make it. The only problem was the ingredients. Some they had ready access to but the others would only be sold to a qualified potions master and so that was why she found her self sorting through jars looking for powdered horn of bicorn and boomslang skin. The rest of the school was at dinner but they new that Snape always eat quickly and so could be back at any moment. Scanning each shelf, she felt the panic growing as neither was visible. Moving something pickled aside she breathed a sigh of relief as a conical flask of tan powder came into view. She removed it and quickly sprinkled a pinch into the fire in the main room. The flames turned a shocking pink confirming it was bicorn. _One down, one to go_. Turning back to the cupboard she began her search for boomslang skin but just then the door to Snape’s office swung open.

Stuffing the jar into the pockets of her robe, she took a steadying breath. _This is it, I’ll be expelled for sure, I’ll be sent to Frank_. There was nothing else for it, she turned to face her professor.

But it wasn’t Snape.

An open mouthed Draco Malfoy stood with his hand still on the handle, ogling her.

‘What are you doing here?’ they hissed at the same time.

‘None of your business,’ they both snapped. Glancing down the corridor Draco raced across the office to her.

‘Severus is my godfather so I have a perfectly legitimate reason for being her, unlike you I imagine.’ He took her by the elbow and led her towards the door. The unexpected contact and swirling thoughts had Hermione on the verge of panic. ‘Look, I’ll say it was me who broke the wards but you better have bloody good reason for this Granger.’ The sound of footsteps reached them, and Draco pushed her into an alcove covered by a tapestry with a hissed ‘Stay there’ as he ran back through the open door. 

The canvas fell back just in time to submerge her in darkness as the sharp voice of professor Snape rang out.

‘Draco, what are you doing in my stores?’ she couldn’t hear his murmured reply as the door fell closed. 

Hermione sat shaking in the darkness for looking after Malfoy had left. She had come so close to losing everything, to returning to the muggle world and Frank, over a stupid mistake. Why hadn’t they posted a look out? She couldn’t say how long she stayed curled up against the stone, she was just numb.

The gentle lifting of the tapestry barely registered but suddenly she found herself gazing up at the identical looks of concern on Fred and George’s face.

‘Oh baby,’ breathed Fred, ‘what happened?’ Their presence seemed to soothe her, as if she had been in pain for the last month but only noticed now it was over. _Relief_ flooded through her and brought perspective with it. She _hadn’t_ been caught. In reality nothing had happened. She had succeeded, she had the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin wasn’t necessary for a while anyway. She sat up.

‘Nothing,’ she replied nearly truthfully but from George’s skeptical look and the way Fred bit his lip, she wasn’t sure they quite believed her.

‘Here,’ said George, bringing forth a plate stacked with food, ‘we saw you missed dinner.’ Taking it from him, Hermione realised it was stacked with her favourites and still warm.

‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked with a grateful smile.

‘Ask us no questions,’ said Fred, handing over cutlery and setting on the floor beside her.

‘And we’ll tell you no lies,’ George concluded, taking her other side. In truth it was a bit of a habit to watch her on the map, especially in the last month when she had barely spoken to them. They tried not to invade her privacy but when Harry and Ron had been spotted whispering and concerned, the twins figured that they’d just check she wasn’t anywhere dangerous. It had taken a bit of searching before they spotted her dot in the dungeons. That in itself wasn’t a cause for concern but the message on the wall seemed to have freed the inhibitions of some students as they were much more forthright in expressing anti-muggleborn sentiments. When her dot hadn’t moved an hour later, alarm bells started ringing. _What if someone had attacked her?_ When she was still there half and hour after that they couldn’t sit still. Neither had been feeling that settled since dinner and the mounting anxiety literally pulled them to her side. Finding her curled in a hidden alcove, fingers clutched around a flask, they could each feel the tidal wave of magic that was rising within them at the sight of their soulmate so despondent. A closer look at the flask suggested it was Bicorn Horn and there weren’t that main potions that used it. The twins themselves had been considering its dualling properties for their own projects. But what did _Hermione_ need it for? With a glance over her head it was clear that they were both thinking the same thing. _We better keep an eye out for her_. They sat together, talking and joking and savouring each other’s presence and, when Hermione had finished her food, the triad returned to Gryffindor together.

*********************** 

Draco was soaring that Saturday, quite literally. It was the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match and Draco was buzzing with the adrenaline and he’d even forgot to obsessively watch Harry. The lunatic Lion’s captain had called a time out but now they were back flying and Harry was right in front of him, swerving and turning with incredibly grace.

‘Training for the ballet?’ Draco called out, resisting the urge to fly over and ruffle his soulmates dishevelled hair. Harry flipped, dodging a bludger with what could only be innate talent. And suddenly he was flying at Draco, Harry’s hand was reaching out - he was going to touch his face!

‘What the -’ exclaimed Draco, not believing that the moment he had waited for for a year and a half was finally upon him. But then Harry was past him, leaning low over his broom and shooting off after a speck of gold. _Oh right, QUIDDITCH_ Draco berated himself, _of course there isn’t an entire stadium here just to admire his hair_. Flipping over Draco shot off after Harry, chasing him in more ways than one.

They were neck and neck now the golden ball only a few inches in front of them. Both boys stretched out but Draco didn’t know what he was reaching for: the snitch or Harry’s hand. He knew which would be the greater prize. A few more centimetres and his pale fingers would touch the back of Harry’s almond hand. Draco willed his broom on. But suddenly there was a bludger coming at him, at their outstretched arm. It was going to strike! Knowing the impeding missile left him no choice, he pulled out of the dive. A heartbeat later he realised Harry hadn’t followed. _What is he thinking?_ The sickening thud of impact reached his ears and Draco spun around in time to see Harry’s arm guard fall away. 

The small seeker now had his arm cradled to his chest but was still flying at breakneck speed, taking his other hand off his broom, and then it was all over. The snitch disappeared into Harry’s fist and the game was won. But with nothing to balance it, Harry’s broom pitched forwards and flung him to the ground, luckily on a meter or so below. Draco watched Harry carefully, his concern over-riding his embarrassment at loosing the game. But wait. It wasn’t all over. One bludger was still free and racing towards the fragile figure of his soulmate on the ground. The cry on Draco’s lips was a moment too late and Harry was saved only by a lifetime of dodging blows. But it was still coming. The noise of the crowd grew louder as they spilled onto the pitch. A burst of light burst from them, banishing the ball that was racing towards Harry again.

The rest of the Slytherin team was calling Draco over but he landed reluctantly, losing Harry from sight as he abandoned his bird’s eye perspective. There was a sudden gasp from the scarlet clad supporters and several retching noise. Bletchley landed a moment later grinning.

‘Looks like the Lockhart idiot has banished Potter’s bones,’ he crowed. Draco felt his stomach turn but was unable to do anything as his soulmate, now unconscious, was born away on a stretcher.

That night the first muggleborn was attacked and in a haunted bathroom, Hermione Granger began dicing fluxweed, determined he would be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN!
> 
> Hopefully the start of some redemption for Draco and some more action for Hermione.
> 
> Because it is a bit shorter I feel like there is less to ask your opinion on but as always _please_ do comment on anything that catches your eye, makes you laugh etc
> 
> Up Next: Adventures in the Dungeons and maybe the rest of second year...
> 
> Also, I am changing the canon recipe for Polyjuice Potion a bit as Hermione literally says its the hardest thing she's ever seen but the Pottermore one doesn't seem that bad - hopefully no one really minds!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry for the delay! This is actually only half of what I originally wanted I post but I've had a bit of a rough week and am currently sitting typing this with some broken ribs and torn muscles! I also moved back to uni this week so have been super busy as well as broken. 
> 
> Anyway, it had been so long that I thought I would put up at least the bit I've done.

It had been three weeks since the attack. Three very uneventful weeks. But with each unremarkable, day Hermione felt her anxiety growing, sure that they were living in some unquantified count down that would end without warning and with another student petrified. Colin Creevey still lay as if dead in the hospital wing and, only able to work on the potion in fits and bursts, Hermione was going stir crazy. After a period of intense monitoring in which the Polyjuice potion required near round the clock attention as ingredients were added, heat adjusted, gas captured condensed and recombined, it was now bubbling quietly until the purple liquid had gone orange and no longer dripped from a stirring rod. 

With each day of inaction, the threat of the chamber magnified. Each night, Hermione would lie away her thought spinning between worst case scenarios and the breath of Frank against her neck. Her letters home were full of false cheer and invented anecdotes, giving no hint of the tension within the castle walls, Hermione knew that if the school wrote home, or even closed, her parents would place her directly into Frank’s lap. Instead of remaining trapped beneath her covers, she had taken to borrowing Harry’s cloak and wandering the corridor. He had taken to leaving his school bag in the common room when he went up to bed, the cloak folded neatly at the bottom, where he would find it the next day. Harry never asked where she went or offered company, he knew that she needed the freedom.

Harry was not the only one aware of Hermione’s nightly roaming. The eery discontent that came when their fledgling bond (as yet still incomplete but none the less present) was stretched to far alerted the twins to her absence and so they would keep an eye on the map, occasionally planting a surprise for Filch if he got too close. How she had managed to walk directly behind Snape and avoid detention was another marvel of their soul mate. Neither had dropped their habit of watching her when their minds wandered, and who could really blame then when everything she did was so adorable. The way her nose crinkled when she studied, the little jump when she discovered something new, the way she’d like her thumb before turning a page. But between daydreams the boys had managed to discover a secret. None of the little trio were really as subtle as they thought and, when Percy had complained about Ron’s trespassing, the twins had found their makeshift lab in the toilet. After that, they did their best to keep the corridor clear, a few stink pellets, some tripping stones, enough to deter anyone else from discovering the cauldron full of half complete Polyjuice Potion. 

Hermione thought that some latent magic of the castle must have been sparked when she found three jobberknobble feathers and some lunar corrected rose petals awaiting her by the cauldron – ingredients they had been struggling to obtain for days. She had read about the Come and Go room in her search for information on the chamber and assumed that this must be an extension of the same enchantment. The twins had grinned when she rushed in through the common room and whispered excitedly to her friends. So gradually they eased the way. Hermione still hadn’t sought them out and the triad hadn’t been alone since the night in the alcove but she was no longer actively avoiding them and, occasional, they caught her staring at them too. She still wasn’t eating but between Neville, George, Fred, Ron, and Harry, who had formed a silent alliance, they managed to get enough into her to keep her going. When Marietta Edgecombe laughed at the sight of Hermione dozing in the library, she stopped quickly when the five boys glared at her.

The strain that had existed between the three of them since her thirteenth birthday seemed to be easing when, on the first day of December, she had walked past the twins and Lee and peaked over their shoulders at the little notebook.

‘If you’re trying to transfigure food, you’ll need to account for McLaird’s theorem for balancing the excess or magical persistence.’ Lee, who had only heard of Hermione’s genius second hand in the numerous waxing of the twins, had assumed that it was exaggerated, but she had just solved a fifth year arithmancy problem and didn’t even take the class yet!

For the twins, it was relief, pure and unbridled and singing in their souls. For the first time in months she had sought them out. And that night, for the first time since September, the feeling of disquiet that had plagued Hermine settled and Harry’s cloak remained unused in the pocket of his bag.

********************************** 

December also brought with it the advertisement of a duelling club. The news sparked much hilarity among the Slytherins especially when their Head of House revealed his involvement in his weekly common room visit and when the Thursday of the club arrived they flocked to the Great Hall ready to witness the humiliation of the conceited peacock who pretended to be a professor.

Lockhart arrived with a swirl of plum and even Draco rolled his eyes at the elaborate styling of his hair. He thrived on the formality and performance of duelling but not even three spells in, Lockhart found himself bested by the Potions Professor who was trying his best not to smile. Knowing that to continue would be to expose himself as a fraud (something all the Slytherins had already identified), volunteers were called for and Draco found himself grinning when Harry was called up. _He must love this, a chance to show everyone how talented he is, he did such a good job with that shrinking charm the other day…_ but he was pulled out of his day dream when Severus selected him. By the slight glint in his godfather’s eye, Draco knew that his mother must have confided how much of Draco’s letters were filled with vignettes of Harry. 

Thrilled to spar with his soulmate, Draco jumped onto the podium. He strode towards Harry, his heart thumping hard with the prolonged eye contact. Each step brought him closer and allowed Draco to see the tiny flecks of gold and even blue that he had never seen before. They were less than a meter apart now, the closest they had ever been apart from quidditch, and Draco felt that magnetised sensation he had come to crave. Harry’s lips were slightly separated, as if he were breathing hard, drawing attention to the sweet fullness of his lip. Draco had never thought about kissing anyone, not really even his soulmate, but there, with the adrenaline of the duel beginning to flood his body, Draco thought he might really want to kiss _Harry_. Unable to help himself, Draco took another step. It was closer than strictly necessary for duelling practice but there was a tantalising hint of mint in the air and he yearned to know if it was the scent of Harry’s shampoo.

However, this closer step revealed more than his cosmetic preferences. Harry’s pupils were dilated, and his breath seemed to be coming fast, the grip on his wand was tight and his knuckles white. In Draco’s approach, he had been too caught up in the beauty of Harry to connect the dots. He didn’t look like he wanted to be up here at all. With the anxious looks he kept shooting the weasel, who looked a moment away from jumping up next to his raven haired brother, and the repetitive tapping of his spare hand against his leg, the pieces seemed to fall into place.

‘Are you scared?’ Draco ventured. But at his voice, Harry’s face hardened, a flintiness replacing the worry.

‘You wish, Malfoy,’ he spat back. Draco reeled; he’d only been concerned, _why was Harry treating it like a threat?_ He wanted to say more, to reassure Harry that he wasn’t going to hurt him – this was only a game – but Harry had already swung his wand down and years of ritual practice had Draco following suit. Then they spun on their heels and took the traditional eight paces, with each step Draco debating how to approach the ‘attack’. On the one hand, he didn’t want to injury Harry but on the other, he had a reputation to maintain and a soulmate was no excuse shoddy spell work. _Harry is a capable wizard and probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I went easy on him _, Draco reasoned as he turned back.__

__They were too far apart now to see the details on his face but Harry was already in the duelling stance so Draco copied suit. Lockhart began his count down but took an inordinately long pause between ‘two’ and ‘one’ and in his strategic turmoil, the spell Draco had decided upon fell from his lips a second too soon._ _

__‘Inverte Statium,’ he cried and Harry was blown back off his feet. There was a gasp from the assembled crowd and Draco felt his stomach turn. It looked like he’d cheated and maybe even _hurt Harry_. In a moment that took a lifetime, Harry remained prone on the ground but then pushed up, a new found determination in his eyes, pointed his wand straight at Draco and retaliated._ _

__‘Rictumsempre.’ And Draco felt himself twisting in the air falling to the ground but the grin that was on his face didn’t just come from the tickling sensation that now plagued him, Harry wanted to play! Trying not to writhed from the sensation, he shot a dancing jinx at Harry._ _

__‘Stop, stop,’ Lockhart was shouting, but his words were as ineffective as his incantations so it was Snape who stepped in._ _

__‘Finte Incantatem,’ and the giggling and jigging stopped. Both boys took a second to catch their breathe before the duel began again. Deciding that a little showing off might be in order after such an embarrassing episode, Draco performed the conjuring charm Snape had been teaching him in their evenings together._ _

__A long black snake appeared on the stage, hissing and raising itself up, ready to strike at this new environment. The screams and flurry of movement reminded Draco that they were not alone as the crowd collectively took a horrified step back. With undeserved confidence Lockhart stepped forwards to deal with the serpent, but instead of banishing it, he flung it twenty feet up and it landed with a smack. Enraged and looking to attack, the snake flicked out its tongue then turned and slithered towards the crowds. Even Draco was a little afraid of his creation now and as it glided towards a Hufflepuff, with fangs exposed, he was sure that he was about to see a grievous injury inflicted. But then something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. Unlike everybody else who was either frozen in shock or backing away, Harry was moving closer. His legs were clearly trembling and his wand was held slackly at his side. Just as Draco was about to call out and stop him, Harry opened his mouth. But no words came forth. Instead a strange hissing issued from his soulmate’s mouth, a breathy and guttural sound that had the hair on the back of Draco’s neck standing on end._ _

__The snake stopped; its eyes now flicking between its prey and the small boy whispering to it. Then to Draco’s horror, it turned its amber eyes on Harry, now mesmerised by the brown boy who was holding unwavering eye contact. The hissing came again, and the snake’s head swayed between Harry and Justin, it’s mouth open wide. The hissing became more instant and it struck Draco that it was not hissing at all but a _language_. The whole hall was frozen. A muted shuffle alerted Draco to the fact that Snape had moved up beside him._ _

__‘Vipera Evanesca,’ and with a brandish of his wand the snake vanished, leaving only a few sparks and a stunned silence._ _

__‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ Justin’s shakey voice broke the silence and Draco was shocked at the animosity in the glare that he directed at Harry. This seemed to break the spell that had transfixed the hall and suddenly there was a flurry of activity. Justin and his friends high-tailed it way, Harry’s friends bundled him off, and the rest of the hall was filled with whispered and by the next day there wasn’t a soul in the school who didn’t know that Harry Potter was a Parselmouth._ _

__On his end Draco found the whole thing incredibly cool and thought it thoroughly ridiculous that anyone interpreted the night’s events as Harry’s attempt to attack a muggle-born. The next day he could see how it hurt Harry as the school collectively gave him the cold shoulder and Draco spurned anyone who he heard spouting the nonsense about him being the Heir of Slytherin. But that night Justin Finch-Fletchley was attacked and who should be found standing over his petrified body but Harry, a ghost floating frozen at his side. The way the rumours told it Harry had practically been clutching a bloody knife and it was a relief when most of the students, and the gossip, left for the Christmas holidays._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next update might take a while as I learn one handed typing and balance real life but I'll get it done asap.
> 
> I know this was Drarry heavy but it wasn't meant to be, thats just all i had done before the accident and I wanted to give you guys something. The next chapter will be back to Hermione!
> 
> as always comments give me incentive to write so please let me know what you think of this (rather shorter than intended) chapter


	16. Snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hello there!  
> Yes, its me - I'm back! It's only been, what, five months? but eh, what's that between friends!
> 
> I am **so** sorry it took me this long to start again but life was a bit mad with moving, and then the injury, and then all the lockdowns, and mental health, and then my dissertation (which I handed in on Monday!!) and I just couldn't put the time I wanted into this. 
> 
> To anyone who has stuck with me - thank you SO MUCH! Every comment, every kudos I got gave me so much happiness and helped me get through and I am determined to pick this back up.  
> To anyone new - welcome! I will be going through and replying to all the comments as soon as I get a chance but I do read them and value them so much.

All the decorations were hung, the statues were carolling, and mistletoe bloomed across the grounds, but the joy that had filled Hogwarts last winter was noticeably absent. There was a tension within the castle and for the first time it didn’t feel like home. Hermione spent the last days before Christmas working frantically over the cauldron, enduring Myrtle’s monologuing as she cut, added, stirred, evaporated, distilled; but finally, on Christmas morning, the last addition of the lace wing flies turned the treacle thick mixture from navy to brown and it was finished.

She had barely been sleeping since Justin and Nick joined Colin, each starched empty bed in the hospital wing taunting her with the possibility of more victims, and with everyone turning on Harry, it was more important than ever to get answers. Up since before the sun that day she had opened only a only one present, a sky blue jumper with a red letter ‘H’ stitched in and a hand written note from Mrs Weasley: _To keep you warm until we see you at home again_. Warmed more by the words than the knitted sweater, she had left the rest of the presents for later and skipped off to check the potion and report back to the boys. 

While everybody else had been busy villainising Harry at the duelling club, Hermione had been planning. She had spotted some stray hair on the back of Millicent Bulstrode’s robes and carefully removed them, storing the strands in a stasis flask until the potion had been completed. With her final ingredient secured she set Harry and Ron off to retrieve a piece of their impersonations and suitable robes, arranging to meet them back in the bathroom half an hour after Christmas tea.

While the boys went about their mission, she nervously approached the twins who were playing exploding snap by the common room fire. Rather than give her presents to McGonagall to magically distribute, Hermione had decided to deliver them herself.

‘Fred, George,’ she whispered to announce her presence, but it was hardly necessary, they always knew when she was in the room with them. They half rose from their chairs, stopping at her small smile as she took a step towards them. Like this, their faces were at the same hight, close enough that George’s breath caused a fluttering in her curls. On the table, Fred’s ‘Manticore’ card blew up but it seemed muffled for the triad, encased in the bond as their magic reached out to each other. They could almost feel it, tendrils tracing against their skin, a bliss that longed for them to be closer. 

Hermione slipped carefully between them and perched on the edge of the table and the twins settled back in their chairs. Each milimeter of space between them seemed electrified in the empty common room and the boys found themselves drawing closer. George scrunched his hand into his trousers to stop himself from reaching out. She was snuggled inside a Weasley jumper and all he could think of was the night he had found her in the Burrow, curled up in Fred’s jumper, and she had said the words that set his soul on fire. Under their intense gaze, her lips parted slightly and George realised how close they all were, realised it was _too_ close for her. He forced himself to shuffle back into the armchair and noticed that she held two precisely presents in her lap. Fred however seemed to be leaning closer. _This_ would be a perfect moment he thought, a perfect moment to brush their bare skin together and bring colour to the mark he adored. Here, where he had first cared for her; here, where she felt safe. 

But she didn’t. As George lent back the entrancement seemed to lift a little, Fred too saw the slight hitch in her breath. Leaning his face in his hand, Fred gave her his best crooked grin and whispered back, ‘Merry Christmas, baby’, feeling his heart soar as her breathing stuttered for an entirely different reason.

Hermione blushed and looked down at her lap as she proffered her two gifts. Careful not to brush fingers, the twins took them. Smirking at each other, they ripped off the wrapping paper in perfect synchronicity, making Hermione giggle. Fred put the paper on his head as a foolish hat while George tied a bow around his head with the ribbon. They grinned at her then looked at each other, slipping to the floor with the force of their laughter. Hermione lifted her feet, wrapping her arms around her legs as she became a ball on the table, but grinned down at her boys, feeling the responsibility of the potion lift for the first time in months. When the laughter subsided, George resumed his place on the chair but Fred remained lying on the floor, staring up at his brother and his soulmate, feeling so full that he had forgotten the actual present. It was George’s gasp brought him back and he reached up to take his gift off the seat. Now unwrapped he could see it was two things. A navy notebook and something brown he couldn’t identify at first. He took up the second, realising it was a pair of leather beaters gloves, his initials imprinted smartly on each cuff. He slipped them on, beaming as he felt the soft interior morph to fit his hand perfectly. They had never been Weasley beaters before them so for the last three years they had been using the old Gryffindor gloves that had been donated to the team back when England had last hosted the world cup in the 1960’s. They were old, worn, and did little to protect from the impact of the bat or the weather. But these! He glanced over at George and saw him flexing his fingers, also marvelling at the quality.

‘They’re brilliant – thank you,’ exclaimed his twin. Hermione grinned back, she had seen the pinch marks and blisters they got after long practices, seen the potion they had concocted to help with the rawness. This was something _she_ could do for _them_ and, as Fred tossed George some compacted paper to beat away with yesterday’s rolled up Prophet, laughing with the easy with which he could change his grip, she felt like she was just an ordinary girl spending Christmas with people who loved her. But as the boys concluded their shenanigans and turned to the second gift, she bit her lip. She hadn’t really known what to get them. They had changed her life, saved it, in so many way that they didn’t even know but she didn’t want to get them anything too sentimental in case they thought she was cheesy but she thought of the letters, of the years that they had spent making a place for her in their lives, in their histories, and knew that honesty would always be enough for them.

Fred took up the book, it was navy with **WWW** embossed in small red letters on the cover. Where he touched it fireworks appeared under his fingertips, dancing across the surface and exploding in magnificent spirals. Looking over at George, he saw his brother’s open mouth but it appeared only to be a simple notebook.

‘I, um, I charmed them so that only your touch would show the pattern,’ Hermione offered shyly.

‘Wicked,’ they said together. Fred turned to open his as George took another moment to admire the secret pattern of vines and liquid swirls that followed his touch. The inside cover was decorated with the virgo constellation and at the bottom, in Hermione’s neat calligraphy had been stamped:  
_You are the light in the darkness  
I only love the stars because they guide me home to you_.  
His fingers hovered over the words, _home_ , she had never been this honest with him and her sincerity meant more than fancy gloves or a nice notebook. But that’s not all it was. A small note was tucked inside and the first few pages were covered with her handwriting, from a brief flick through he surmised they were equations and spells, complicated ones too, that he would have to sit down and analysis later. Fred opened the note:

_Dear Fred,  
Happy Christmas! I know you are moving on from WMW and thought it might be time for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes – a joke shop run by the brightest wizards I know. You can change the name, change anything you like but I just thought you might like the alliteration. I did some reading about business plans and have noted it down for you. I added some notes about things I’ve seen you work on that might help too. I know you’ll work it out but I thought I could help and that’s what soulmates are supposed to do. But I suppose I haven’t been a very good one. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I run away when I’m scared, and I’m sorry that I can’t talk to you about this. I’m sorry I am so broken and I can’t let you touch me, I am sorry that fate tied you to me. Everything is changing so fast and so much, and not always for the better but this year you saved me. With your jokes and your smiles and by letting me ask for what I need, you are the light in my darkness. I want to give you more but I hope I can offer enough.  
This book isn’t quite the stars but maybe it’s a dream?  
Love, Mione _

As Fred read, he felt tears gathering in his eyes and tried to surreptitiously blink them away. _Mione_. Only Neville, Harry, and Ron called her that, only the people she trusted most in the world and she had given that name to him.

‘I didn’t want it to over step,’ she murmured, biting her lip again. He longed to be able to touch her face and ease the anxiety way; instead, Fred got to his knees and leaned closer.

‘It’s perfect. I love it,’ her eyes lifted and Fred felt himself floating off in their hazelnut depth. _This is enough_ the words rang through his heart. Timidly, but without breaking eye contact, Hermione slipped her foot forwards so her sock covered toes pressed gently against his pyjama clad kneed. _More than enough_ he revised as the heat of her skin pressed against his own, sending his heart into overdrive as warmth seemed to emanated from the contact, filling him with inexpressible joy. It wasn’t skin-to-skin, wouldn’t change monochrome to colour, but it was Hermione reaching out to him and it was _everything_.

George closed his notebook with a slight snap.

‘You have _nothing_ to be sorry for,’ he whispered, joining Fred as he kneeled in front of her, his voice a little gruff after reading his own letter. They weren’t exactly the same but neither were her boys. She slid her fingers around George’s wrist and he sighed at the contact.

Suddenly the portrait hole burst open and Ron stopped dead in his tracks, arms bundled full of robes.

‘Oh,’ he stopped dead in his tracks, a shoe falling to the floor. ‘Hermione, we got… well we have everything.’ And with that the bubble broke. All the anxieties of the term came flooding back and Hermione kicked herself for forgetting what was at stake. She swung her legs across the table and stood up on the far side, grabbing the dropped shoe, and gesturing to Ron to lead the way out while she got her school bag with Millicent sized robes hidden inside.

But before she could get to it, George picked it up and gave Ron a pointed look to back off (he retreated to open the portrait again but hovered there). 

‘Angel, your letter,’ he began. By the fire it had seemed so easy to be open with each other but he had watched her shut down once again when his little brother entered. Now, with only his grip on her satchel stopping her from running again, he felt the frustration of an entire term beginning to rise. ‘You can’t just disappear after saying that.’ Hermione took hold of the strap and pulled gently but he wasn’t letting go. He slid his hand over hers and tried to loosen her fingers.

His thumb slipped into her fist, pinching slightly as it worked its way between her hand and the fabric. _Deep breaths_ she intoned but it wasn’t George’ hand she felt now pushing against her. The trembling started.

‘We need to talk about this,’ he insisted, but removed his hand from hers. ‘We can help but you’ve got to give us something, let us in on some secrets.’ _…you know how important it is to keep secrets…_ a voice crooned as fingers pressed against her, reaching to take something she never wanted to give.

Fred watched as all emotion dropped from Hermione’s face, her grip went slack and her school bag fell to the floor with a thump that seemed to echo. Then it was all action. Fred leapt up from the floor and went to move George back, but Ron was already there pushing his big brother back, squaring up even though he was a good six inches smaller.

‘Got to?’ he was challenging. ‘Got to? There are a lot of things Hermione has got to do but explaining herself to you is not one, alright?!’ Fred stood back in shock, sure Ron was about to punch his twin. It was only when Hermione took hold of the hem of Ron’s jumper that he stopped, simply picking up Hermione’s bag, pulling the cuffs over his wrist and offering his wool clad hand to his best friend; taking it, he lead her towards the portrait hole.

Hermione hesitated as she passed Fred.

‘He didn’t mean it,’ he whispered. 

‘Yes, he did, and he should,’ she replied, letting Ron pull her away, ‘I ruin everything’. It was so quiet the twins barely heard it, but they did and it broke their hearts. Glancing back at the door, all she could see were two crushed faces _telling secrets gets people hurt_ Frank’s voice echoed across the months. _Not now_ she ran her thumb across Ron’s hand, letting it catch on each row of stitching, grounding herself. She couldn’t get lost now, too much was riding on this evening. Every muggle-born, everyone who had turned on Harry, every worry that Hogwarts would close and she would be sent to a house in London with creaking stairs and consuming secrets - everything would be helped by focusing on tonight.

George had started to follow them but Fred grabbed his arm.

‘Don’t,’ he said flatly, ‘you’ve done enough.’ And to his surprise a gentle sob broke from his brother, turning him back Fred saw tears running from his eyes and a tremble in George’s bottom lip.

‘I know, I just want to say I’m sorry.’ His eyes were un-naturally bright and Fred couldn’t help himself. He’d grown up with those eyes, at every moment of triumph, at every failure, those sky blue eyes that matched his own had been his constant companion.

‘Come here,’ he pulled George into a hug, ‘you’ll apologise tonight.’

George was shaking against his shoulder. ‘I never wanted to be like them, I’d never hurt her.’ 

‘I know,’ he consoled, ‘we just can’t push her.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ George pushed himself back but didn’t let go of his grip on Fred’s jumper. ‘She thinks she so broken, but she’s not and I can’t make her see that. I just want to lift the world off her because she seems like she’s being crushed and it kills me that I can’t even wipe away her tears.’

Fred ran his thumb under George’s eyes and it reminded him so strongly when they were younger and George would cry after their brothers went back to school. ‘She’ll come back he promised,’ echoing his old comfort. He leaned their foreheads together, ‘She’ll come back and we’ll talk and we’ll tell her that she has never been darkness, then I’ll make her laugh and you’ll tell her a story and she’ll know that we would never, ever try to take anything from her. Tonight,’ he promised. 

But it wouldn't be tonight. They wouldn’t see Hermione again for another month. Despite all her careful work, one wrong strand of hair left Hermione in the hospital wing and sent the two boys to the dungeons alone

Draco knew the moment he came across his cronies in the corridor that something was a miss and within ten minutes had put together their strange behaviour and Granger’s investigation in the potion’s stores. But he had gone along with it, preening slightly at the chance to show Harry himself in his natural environment, he had nothing to hide. 

When Harry’s scar had appeared and the weasel’s flaming red started to show, Draco pretended to be oblivious, thrilled Harry had sought him out (even if it was to interrogate him). Picking up a present he offered it to the boys, hoping it would force Harry to take it from him, brushing his hand in the process. But alas, Harry’s acting didn’t cover Slytherin self-gain and Draco was left to pick moodily at the ribbon as Ron asked some clumsy questions about his father. Eventually, the boys had realised their disguises were failing them and fled from the common room, leaving Draco chuckling a quietly pleased with himself. He had spent twenty minutes with Harry without arguing, scaring him, or making a fool out of himself. Yes, they hadn’t touched, and _yes_ Harry was concealed as Goyle, and _yes_ they thought he might be a murderer, but it was a start!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really nervous to post again but I re-read everything to try and get back in the style and tone but I'm worried the pacing is off and it just isn't good. I'm really worried about putting this out there again so please do let me know anything you liked. I still have normal uni work so I won't be updating super regularly, maybe once a month but that isn't fixed cos, ya know, life; but please stick with me as I start this adventure again!
> 
> I know that George had a bit of a dark spot there but I want to create some character development and see the relationship between the twins - what did you think of that? Also the first triad romantic scene - how was the balance of characters? 
> 
> Did you like Hermione's presents? What about Ron?
> 
> Next chapter: the fall out from the day, a secret friendship starting, and (maybe) a mysterious book pops up.


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